


The Hunter Who Ran With Wolves

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Alteration, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: The one where Stiles is a hunter on a mission, Derek is an Alpha with a solid pack, and things go south.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 115
Kudos: 411
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles knew how to fire a gun before he learned how to solve equations.

He’d been a hunter his entire life. Gerard liked to say it kill or be killed; hunt or be hunted. Stiles took these words to heart and grew up determined to be the best he could; determined to avenge his mother and father, innocents killed by the things he now hunted.

Wolves.

Moonlight wept through the thick branches that choked out the forest. Stiles moved through the woods quieter than the shadows themselves and searched the darkness. This was the first hunt he’d gone on alone and if things went wrong, it’d be the last. But only if things went wrong.

Blue eyes suddenly pierced the darkness.

Stiles threw himself to the ground as the wolf leaped out of the shadows. Half-shifted, the creature flew over his head and Stiles rolled, shoving himself up and drawing his gun. He fired three shots, each meeting its target, and the wolf collapsed to the ground with a pained roar.

A sharp howl echoed in answer.

Stiles didn’t have the chance to turn before he was driven to the ground. His gun went flying and claws caught the moonlight, swiping for his neck. He managed to squirm back, but the weight on his chest was too heavy to shake off. Stiles went for his knife instead, fingers wrapping around the handle and yanked it up. Before the wolf could go for his throat again, Stiles slashed forward.

A loud yelp pierced the air. Blood splattered across his face. 

The wolf collapsed on top of him and Stiles grunted, shifting so it slid off. Silence fell over the forest once more. He managed to climb to his feet, legs shaking, and went to retrieve his gun again. Stiles’s stomach churned. He wiped a hand across his face and it came back covered in blood.

Grimacing, he brushed it off on his shirt. That was stained with the color of crimson and stench of iron too. 

Stiles eyed the woods. He’d only been sent out here to kill two wolves, but he knew there were more hiding in the shadows. There were always more. Gerad liked to say they were like a sickness, a plague that too few people knew about. No matter how many the hunters took out, the wolves always came back in droves.

Stiles eyed the woods but nothing else came out. Clenching his jaw, he turned away.

He left the bodies behind.

* * *

Stiles was two when his parents were killed. He’d been too young to remember them and too innocent to understand what happened. Gerard said it’d been a message and he should’ve died too. Stiles was determined to prove there was a reason he’d survived.

He dropped his knife onto the side table and stripped off his bloodied and torn shirt, letting the cabin door swing shut behind him. The hunter sitting on the couch threw a glance over her shoulder and grinned when he stepped into the room. 

“So the little fox has bite. How’s it feel to have survived your first solo hunt, Stiles?”

“Fantastic,” Stiles deadpanned, kicking off his shoes. “I’m covered in blood and smell like an animal, and the wolf ruined my favorite shirt.”

“Oh, stop whining, it’s not a good look on you,” Kate said, pushing herself up. Eyes swept over his bare chest, before going to his face, and she smirked. “Carlos owes me ten bucks.”

“Ten bucks?” Stiles asked suspiciously. Then his eyes widened and he squawked. “Oh my god, that asshole didn’t think I’d survive, did he? Like the idiot could do any better. There’s a reason he only has eight fingers.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Kate said, taking a sip of her beer. She swallowed and offered it over and Stiles wrinkled his nose, but accepted. His body ached as he reached out for it.

There was a thin set of gashes across the side of his chest that would probably need stitches, but Stiles was relatively unharmed other than that. Kate stepped forward and studied them, expression tightening dangerously. 

“You need to be careful about letting those mutts get you, little fox. Deep enough and with the next full moon, you’ll be running alongside them.”

“I know,” Stiles said, avoiding her gaze. If he was clawed deep enough, he knew he wouldn’t actually live long enough to see the next full moon. Either he’d take himself out or one of the hunters would. He gazed around the room. “Where’s Gerard?”

“Out,” Kate said. Stiles raised a brow and she shrugged.

“So, then, what’s next?” He asked instead, taking another sip from the bottle. He grimaced again. “We’re not staying here, are we?”

“Hell no,” Kate said. “This place is a shithole.”

“Glad I wasn’t the one who had to say it.”

Kate gave him an amused look and Stiles handed back the bottle, remembering how much of a mess he was. Grabbing his bloodied shirt, he started toward the bathroom, waving a hand over his shoulder. 

“Whenever Carlos gets back, tell him he’s an asshole. And make sure he pays up.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Kate said, smirking slightly. Stiles grinned before shutting the bathroom door and turning on the water.

He stripped all the way down and waited for the water to get warm, eyeing the claw marks on his skin. Unconsciously, he rubbed his thumb over the mark on his hip above it; a hunter symbol. Gerard said it was tradition, even though Stiles had never liked needles. He could gut a werewolf without wincing, but he couldn’t stand needles. 

Still, it was tradition. And he’d passed out the second needle had touched skin.

Stiles stepped into the water, ducking under the steady stream. Blood streamed off his skin and swirled around the drain, turning the water crimson. The mud that caked his hands and arms joined it and Stiles closed his eyes, turning his face toward the warm stream. 

The water stung as it hit his wounds. Grimacing, Stiles angled so the claw marks were getting hit full-on, dirt and dried blood washing out. He heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by Kate’s distant voice. Then Stiles heard a series of curse words and grinned as he recognized Carlos’s voice.

He finished scrubbing himself down and dried off quickly, ducking out of the bathroom in a towel. His room at the end of the hall was dirtied with old papers and snack wrappers, and Stiles scrounged around for the cleanest looking pair of clothes he could find, pulling them on. His school books were stacked on the desk in the corner, along with his half-empty suitcase.

That’s how things usually were. They never stuck around in one place for very long, so Stiles had gotten used to unpacking only when the stay would be longer than a couple of weeks. Otherwise, it was just a hassle.

He heard the front door open and close again. This time, Stiles recognized the heavy footsteps that came thumping into the cabin.

His heart leaped. Stiles thumbed the hem of his shirt and glanced down at the claw marks across his skin. Scrounging around through his bag, he quickly pulled out a first aid kit and bandages, sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling up his shirt to hold it between his teeth. Stitches were probably a good idea, but Stiles only cleaned the gashes with antiseptic and covered them in white padding.

Seventeen years and he still didn’t do stitches.

There was a knock on his door and Stiles sat up as Gerard pushed it open. The old man’s dark eyes went over his messy room and his lips curled up in distaste, before landing on where Stiles sat. Stiles watched him eye the fresh bandages and resisted the urge to swallow nervously. 

“Are both wolves dead?” Gerard asked. Stiles nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And your injuries?”

“Barely scratches,” Stiles said, holding the old man’s gaze. Gerard studied him for a moment before nodding, something akin to the look of approval flashing through his eyes. 

“Not all hunters survive their first blooding. You did good, boy.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said softly. Gerard looked around his room one last time before nodding and turning around.

“Get packed. We’re leaving this place in the morning.”

“Where to next?”

Gerard hesitated at the door, glancing back. Stiles bit down on his tongue, cursing himself internally, but the man didn’t look irritated or angry. “Somewhere we haven’t been a long time,” Gerard said after a moment. “Beacon Hills.”

Stiles froze. “Beacon?”

“There’s a new threat there,” Gerard said. “One my son has neglected to take care of.”

“Does it have anything to do with my parents?” The words spilled out before Stiles had a chance to stop them. Gerard’s eyes darkened and Stiles resisted the urge to flinch, dropping his gaze. There weren’t many rules traveling with the hunters, but that was one of them. Stiles’s past wasn’t up for topic.

“Get packed,” Gerard said again. “And go to Kate for stitches.”

Stiles nodded silently and didn’t take another breath until Gerard was gone. Closing his eyes, he slumped back onto the bed and cursed himself. Beacon Hills— Stiles didn’t remember anything about Beacon Hills. He hadn’t been there since his parent’s deaths.

_ A threat,  _ Gerard had said. Stiles knew the werewolves that’d killed his parents hadn’t been taken out. Not all of them, at least. Maybe this was his chance to do just that, whether that was the purpose of the trip or not. It was why he’d been training his entire life, after all. The hunt, the rush, the fight.

The revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Hills isn't very welcoming, Stiles has questions, and something is always left unsaid.

“Look, little fox,” Kate said as they parked, glancing back at him from the front seat. “My brother is both difficult and direct. If he asks, you’re one of ours, and you’re here to help with the hunt. We’ve had younger hunters in our ranks, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Understood?”

“One hundred percent,” Stiles said, glancing out the window. 

He fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt and tried not to feel too nervous. He’d never met the other Argents, but he’d met other hunters before. His story was always the same; short and simple. His reasoning for hunting was the death of his parents and Gerard and Kate had taken it upon themselves to oversee his training. It was easy and simple and true, if not leaving out just a little bit.

“Gerard wanted you to come along for a reason,” Kate said, still looking at him. “So just stay quiet, observe, and don’t speak unless spoken to. You’re a smart one, little fox. I imagined he wants you to see how negotiations between hunters goes.”

Stiles nodded. Kate smiled and opened her door, stepping out. Stiles took a deep breath and followed. 

Chris looked as hardened and stern as Stiles had imagined, standing on the porch of his house. He had Gerard’s pale eyes and Kate’s analyzing expression. Allison Argent’s eyes were warmer and her smile was infectious. She studied Stiles curiously and avoided Gerard’s eyes, giving Kate a cautious glance. 

Kate said she found out about the werewolves and hunters three years ago and didn’t take it well. Both Allison and her dad retired from the hunter’s life when her mother died. Stiles wasn’t sure why Gerard led them here if the two were retired, but he imagined it had something to do with the hunt.

Chris didn’t look happy to see his family. He didn’t look at Kate and gazed at Stiles like he was something strange, before turning to Gerard.

“I still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Like I said on the phone,” Gerard said. “It seems, because there’s no one left to protect Beacon Hills, the mutts have become something of an infestation. The hunter’s job is to clean up such infestations, don’t you remember?”

Chris’s eyes hardened. “We both know that’s not always the case.”

“Don’t worry, Chris,” Gerard said, his tone remaining neutral. “I’m not here as a threat to you. We’ll stay out of your business as long as you stay out of ours.”

“The code—” Chris started to grit out, but Gerard waved him off.

“The code has been put to the test so many times in this town, I don’t know where we can draw the line anymore. Is your wife not dead because of the wolves? From kanimas to alpha packs, I think it’s time some order was established again.”

“Victoria made her choice,” Chris said coldly. “The rest is none of your buisness.”

“I’m a hunter, son,” Gerard said. “The tainting of Beacon Hills is my buisness. You understood that once too.”

Allison flinched.

“I came here as a sign of goodwill,” Gerard continued, looking at her for a moment before glancing back at Chris. “Because I’d like for our paths to avoid overlapping violently.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Chris growled. Gerard didn’t look concerned. 

“Only if necessary.”

Allison’s eyes flickered and Stiles caught a glance of the girl behind the smile. She wore an expression mirroring her father now; cold and calculating. Catching him staring, she looked sharply over. Stiles held her gaze and felt it grow darker.

“Get off my property,” Chris said darkly. “Beacon Hill’s doesn’t need your help, is that understood?”

“Chris—” Kate started, but he shot her a glare. Biting her lip, Kate dropped her gaze and stepped back. Chris looked back at Gerard.

“There’s no hunt for you here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Chris. It’s really a shame we no longer see eye-to-eye.”

“Get off my property,” Chris repeated again. Gerard sighed, but turned away. His son’s eyes tracked his every movement before turning to Stiles. 

Kate nudged Stiles’s arm and he started to follow, when Chris spoke again. Stiles froze.

“The kid. Are you really recruiting so young now?”

“I’m nearly eighteen,” Stiles said sharply, turning back around. Chris’s eyes flashed.

“You should be in school, not hunting werewolves.”

“I’m homeschooled,” Stiles shot back. “And that’s because of werewolves.”

Gerard gave him a silencing look. Stiles clenched his jaw, but backed down, and could feel Allison staring. He didn’t look at her. Kate took his arm this time, turning him away, and Stiles could feel the other Argent’s eyes drilling into his back. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Kate said when they were back in the car. Stiles swallowed and looked at his hands.

“I know.”

“You have bite, little fox, and that’s why I like you. But you still need to learn to follow orders.”

Stiles nodded and Kate shook her head, pulling out of the driveway. Gerard’s car already starting down the street. Stiles glanced out the window and caught both Argents still watching them. Chris caught his gaze for a moment. Stiles quickly looked away.

“But other than that,” Kate said. “You did well. My brother’s never had his head fully in the game, I always assumed he’d drop out sooner or later. Gerard’s proud of you, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re on your way to becoming everything Chris could never be.”

Stiles looked at her quietly. There was a smile on Kate’s lips as she watched the road.

“You’re gonna be good at this, little fox. I can tell.”

* * *

Stiles had always been good at research. He just was.

Gerard thought a hunter should be better with guns and knives instead of books and computers, but Kate thought Stiles’ talent would come in handy one day. Turns out one day was today, and it was Stiles’ job to put together the file on the Beacon Hills pack. 

Stiles was surprised at the number of supernatural events that occurred in Beacon Hills. It was like the place was monster-nip or something. He couldn’t believe people were still so blind to the creatures they lived next to. There should only be so many acclaimed ‘animal attacks’ before someone got suspicious. 

Though, he supposed that made the hunter job easier.

Stiles glanced out his open bedroom door, but the rest of the safehouse was silent. Gerard and Kate had gone out hours ago to meet with the other hunters they’d called. Stiles didn’t imagine they’d back until much later.

Looking back at his computer, he pulled up another window. One with reports on all deaths from seventeen years ago and beyond. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Stiles didn’t know anything about his parents, not even their names. He was grasping at straws.

But that didn’t make it any easier to stop.

Sighing, Stiles clicked back to his other open pages. The only thing he’d found regarding the obvious supernatural reports was that they were all professionally covered up. Well enough that they could’ve just been another animal attack or easily explained crime.

Stiles was frustrated.

Normally, during a hunt, they had a case or a list of names, or something. Maybe Gerard and Kate weren’t telling him everything yet. Because Stiles didn’t have anything other than a few useless leads. He groaned, opening a new tab again.

Kate was back first. She looked unusually pleased with herself and popped into his room right as Stiles hurried to close a certain tab. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice.

“Got anything for us, little fox?”

“Probably less than you do. As in nothing at all.”

“Well, we’ve got a name,” Kate said, the look in her eyes nothing but delighted. “They call themselves the Hale-McCall pack. It's made up of two Alphas and a toss-up of supernatural teenagers.”

“There are two Alphas?” Stiles asked, startled. That wasn’t something he’d heard of before. Then he blinked. “Wait, did you say Hale?”

“Derek Hale is one of the Alphas,” Kate said with a grin. Stiles turned back to his research and clicked on one of the tabs, pulling up an old article. One that had caught his eye from the beginning. He read it over again, then glanced back at her.

“As in Derek Hale from the Hale fire?”

Something in Kate’s expression brightened as she eyed the article. Her grin turned sharper and her eyes danced. She nodded. “That’s him.”

“Was his entire family a bunch of werewolves, then?”

“Enough of them,” Kate said with a smirk. “The fire was a lucky thing.”

Stiles swallowed, looking back at the article. He didn’t usually disagree when it came to werewolves, but the details of the fire were disturbing. There were children caught in it. And one of the deaths wasn’t even a Hale.

“As for McCall,” Kate said, settling down on the edge of his bed. “Kid’s a senior at Beacon Hills High. A True Alpha, based on the rumors. Pulled himself up the ranks by his teeth.”

A True Alpha was rare. And slightly terrifying. Stiles blinked at his computer screen, wondering if they really knew what they were facing here. Of course, he knew better than to admit to being scared, but he had the right to be wary. And this seemed like a good thing to be wary about. 

“Don’t look so pale, kid,” Kate laughed, seeing his expression. “It wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, only half-joking. “But it’d be easy.”

“Don’t worry,” Kate said. “Your job in this isn’t going to be one of the difficult ones.”

“I already have a job?”

“Something like that,” Kate shrugged. "You’ll be pretty excited to hear you’re not homeschooled anymore.”

“What?”

“The high school might have been convinced to take on a new student this quarter. Getting them to agree wasn’t too difficult once I pulled a few strings.”

Stiles wasn’t even aware he had a record. Gerard said he'd been assumed dead along with his parents and he’d long since accepted the fact that he was the nickname  _ “Stiles, just Stiles”  _ when people asked. “So now I’m…?”

“Fostered,” Kate said.

“Oh great,” Stiles said sarcastically. “I appreciate that.”

Kate grinned at him. “I’m ordering Chinese,” she said, pushing herself up and wandering from the room. Stiles sat in the fresh silence and thought. 

Two Alphas, a Hale fire, the look in Kate’s eyes. She had a tendency to get excited about hunts, but this was something else entirely. This was something new. Some part of Stiles still felt like there were things they weren’t telling him, though he'd felt like that before.

Stiles sighed, turning back to his computer. Questions weren’t his job; that was a lesson constantly drilled into his head growing up. Order and questions weren’t the same things. He couldn't have both.

But Stiles had always been a curious kid.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't do public school, the betas react to a new threat, and Derek's protective of his pack.

This was some kind of alien technology bullshit.

“Goddammit,” Stiles said, dropping his head against the locker. Of all the things he thought would come in handy, knowing how to open a locker was not one of them. But here he was, fifth try, and the damn thing still wouldn’t open.

He was going to be late to class. His first class ever and Stiles was going to be late. He already hated public school.

Because here Stiles was, senior year, and he’d never actually been to a public school before. He couldn’t ask for help because he had pride, goddammit, but he also couldn’t get the stupid thing open. Somehow, this was all of his worst nightmares wrapped up into one.

“Hey, man! You okay?”

Stiles startled and whirled around, then promptly cursed himself. Gerard would kill him for ever letting down his guard, even if it was at school. Which he was in to get close to  _ werewolves. _

“I’m alright, dude. Just apparently getting my ass kicked by a school locker.”

The guy laughed. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and the kind of puppy dog smile that Stiles had no doubt made him extremely popular in crowds. He was also rummaging through a locker only two down from Stiles’s, looking like he was late too.

“Hey, you’re not alone in that,” the guy said. “Want me to give it a try?”

Stiles shrugged and stepped back, rattling his locker combination off as the guy spun the dial. Of course, it came open on his first try, and the guy grinned, handing the lock over. 

“Lucky try, I guess. You’re new around here?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, unloading the books he didn’t need until later. He didn’t really know how much detail to give, but figured a few things couldn’t be that harmful. “I’m Stiles.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, just Stiles,” Stiles said with a grin. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be around, but hopefully long enough to finish out my senior year. It’d be nice to graduate before going back on the road.”

“Dude!” The guy beamed. “I’m a senior too. Scott McCall.”

Stiles froze.  _ McCall— the Alpha Scott McCall.  _

_ Ah, shit.  _

Scott’s eyebrows furrowed and Stiles fought the sudden urge to panic. Brown eyes studied his own and Scott looked concerned. “Dude, are you okay? Your heartbeat is going crazy.”

“Uh,” Stiles laughed nervously. “My heartbeat?”

Scott’s face instantly turned red. He blinked a few times and smiled lopsidedly. “I mean, you look like you’re having a heart attack or something. Is everything good?”

“Everything’s great,” Stiles said, forcing a grin. “You know, first day jitters and all. It probably doesn’t help that I came during the last quarter. And I’m already late to first period.”

“Who do you have?”

“Uh,” Stiles peered down at his schedule. “Harris?”

“Oh no,” Scott winced. “Oh shoot! Yeah, man, me too. Speaking of which, we should probably go. Harris doesn't take well to tardies.”

Stiles raised a brow but quickly shut his locker, stuffing his books in his bag and following. He tried to take slowly, careful breaths, but his heart was pounding against his chest. Stiles couldn’t believe that this guy— this puppy-dog looking kid— was a True Alpha. The True Alpha. Someone they were here for. It was surprising, but also something more.

Stiles couldn’t shake the fact that it felt wrong. 

Scott wasn’t lying. The moment they stepped into class, they were fixed with a dark look and Mr. Harris made it obvious that Stiles would  _ not  _ succeed in his class if he made a habit of being late. Stiles couldn’t believe he’d already made a teacher enemy.

Were all public schools like this?

Allison was also in this class. Stiles felt his heart stop the moment she spotted him and his stomach twisted when Scott moved over to sit behind her. She whispered something sharp and Scott’s brows furrowed in confusion. Stiles felt his throat close as he realized they both  _ knew  _ each other.

Scott’s gaze suddenly swung over. Stiles busied himself with flipping through his Chemistry book, but he could feel the other boy staring.

_ Shit,  _ he was an idiot. Stiles had no doubt his heartbeat was doing crazy things now.

But a retired hunter’s daughter and an Alpha werewolf being friends? Stiles couldn’t believe his crappy luck. Turns out, he wasn’t going to be getting close to the werewolves here, he was going to be making enemies of them. What if they attacked in between classes? Caught him before lunch and ripped his throat out before Stiles had the chance to fight back?

Stiles clenched his jaw and glared down at his textbook. Those thoughts were not helping and freaking out was the last thing he needed to do.

The rest of the class passed by quickly. In fact, the rest of the school day did.

Scott avoided him for the rest of the day, though Stiles didn’t expect anything different. Stiles studied the other students he hung out with, conscious of their stares every time he walked by in the hallway. There was a little more than a handful of them and they were so closely knit, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if they were the pack.

Stiles thought he counted seven. But he couldn’t be sure.

Stiles didn’t wait around after school. His bike was parked around the side of the school and he unlocked it quickly, determined to get back to the safe house. They’d have to reevaluate things if the wolves knew who he was and why he was here.

Stiles only just finished unlocking his bike when a hand caught him around the neck. He didn’t even have the chance to react before he was being shoved against the cement wall, the breath knocked from his lungs.

“Goddammi—!” Stiles gasped, scrabbling at the hand. But then claws suddenly came out of his attacker’s fingernails, pressing against his neck, and Stiles froze. The wolf in front of him snarled, revealing golden eyes.

Only it wasn’t just one wolf. 

There were three in total; the one holding him by the neck and two others at his back; a dark-skinned boy and a blonde-haired girl. Stiles stopped struggling and raised his hands, willing his heart to not leap out of his throat. None of them had blue eyes. But they all looked murderous.

“Okay, then,” Stiles said, laughing weakly. “Hey there, guys. Are your eyes turning colors or is that a trick of the light? Because I couldn’t sworn they just turned gold—”

“Cut the shit, hunter,” the girl growled, showing him fangs. Stiles dropped his hands again and dipped one into his pocket, clenching his fingers around a small pocket knife hidden there. The girl wrinkled her nose as she studied him. “Scott really thinks he’s with the Argents?”

“That’s what he says,” said the guy holding Stiles’s neck. “Tell us, little hunter, why are you here? Do you really think it’s wise to tussle with the Hale-McCall pack?”

Stiles glared and kicked out, catching the guy in the ribs. The wolf swore and stumbled back, grip loosening, and Stiles managed to squirm free, pulling the knife from his pocket. The girl dove at him with a growl and he flicked the blade out, driving it forward.

She roared out in pain as it drove in deep. Stiles had never been so relieved Kate made him coat all his weapons in wolfsbane. 

The girl fell to the ground and the dark-skinned guy’s eyes flashed yellow. He snarled and leaped at Stiles, claws extended, and Stiles dodged, dropping to the ground and grabbing his bike chain before shoving himself back up. 

The wolf leaped forward again and Stiles swung the chain through the air. He caught the guy on the cheek, inciting a howled in pain; one loud enough to attract the attention Stiles needed. 

Grabbing his bike, Stiles pushed off the ground and started forward, pedaling as hard as he could. He only looked back when he’d ridden past the approaching crowd. The dark-skinned guy was still watching him like Stiles was his next meal. Grimacing, Stiles turned back around and pedaled harder.

This wasn't how he’d expected his first day to go.

* * *

Derek knew there were hunters in town.

There were always hunters in town. Ever since he’d rebuilt the Hale house and Scott made the decision to join their packs together. The hunters liked to think they were getting a challenge. Usually, they were getting a lot more.

But Allison reported yesterday that the new hunters were Argents. Gerard and Kate.

_ Kate. _

She said there was a new kid with them too. One that Chris didn’t recognize and Gerard didn’t bother to introduce other than a first name.  _ Stiles.  _ Derek’s opinion of the kid soured instantly. He didn’t care how old he was or how in over his head he might be. Anyone who allied themselves with Gerard and Kate Argent had to be twisted in some way.

Derek’s pack came by that night and reported the kid was going to their school. Attending their classes. Watching them when he thought no one else was looking.

Derek’s idiot betas decided to corner him after school. Erica got hurt.

Derek didn’t know if he was angrier that one of his pack members had been hurt, or that they’d been stupid enough to attack a hunter on school grounds. 

“He’s in our classes,” Scott said. “I didn’t even realize who he was until Allison said something.”

Derek clenched his jaw, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Finding out that Kate was back in town had been a blow enough. Knowing the threat was this close to the pack and they— or at least, the kid— knew who his pack was, was more than disturbing. 

“I say we take him out,” Peter said flatly. “It should be easy enough, if he’s just a kid. 

“He stabbed Erica,” Isaac growled. Peter rolled his eyes.

“He caught you and your little band of puppies off guard. Who keeps a knife in their pocket anyway?”

“A hunter?” Allison said.

“You would know,” Erica growled. Allison shot her a dangerous look and the blonde offered a sharp grin, shrugging. “I’m just saying, from experience and all.”

“So we can’t take him out on school grounds,” Jackson said. “The little twerp can’t lay a finger on us either.”

“Would you really put your safety in the hands of a hunter?”

“Would he really put his safety in the hands of us?”

“Guess we’ll see tomorrow,” Scott said morosely. 

Derek gritted his teeth and caught his uncle’s gaze; catching the obvious message in Peter’s eyes. It would be easier to just take the kid out. But Derek wasn’t a killer and he wasn’t going to let his pack be either. 

“No one goes off alone,” Derek said. “I don’t care if it’s school or not. Stick in groups of at least two and keep an eye on…”

“Stiles,” Lydia reminded. “He’s in my history class. Slightly spastic, obviously smart, and I might have been worried about my spot for valedictorian if he’d been here all year, not just this semseter.”

“Glad to hear your valedictorian spot is safe,” Erica muttered. Lydia looked smirkingly at her.

“So am I, though a little competition would be nice.”

“Sure,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”

Jackson growled lightly at the blonde-haired beta, but she ignored him. Peter muttered something about  _ ‘not taking the necessary precautions’  _ and stalked out of the room. Derek was more worried about him than the others, considering Kate’s return to Beacon Hills. But Peter’s place in the pack was always precarious. Derek couldn’t take charge over his uncle’s decisions even if he wanted to.

“Do we know where they’re based?” Boyd asked. “It would be easier to keep tabs on the hunters that the Argents— the other Agents— are bringing into the fold if we had eyes on them.”

Derek nodded approvingly. There was a reason Boyd was his second. It wasn’t just because he knew how to keep his head in dangerous situations and didn’t jump to conflict the moment an opportunity appeared. Derek had been slightly disappointed to hear Boyd was engaged in the fight after school, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. The betas would never let him live down the fact that he actually cared if he did.

“It would be easier,” Derek said. “But the Argents have hidden safehouses all throughout Beacon. It’ll take longer than a few days to track them down, especially if the hunters are all spread out.”

“Allison’s dad can’t help?” Isaac asked. 

“My father is retired,” Allison said. “This is a world I’m allowed to live in as long as he’s not dragged into our conflicts unnecessarily.”

“It’s not like you’re in danger,” Erica muttered. “The Argents would never shoot one of their own.”

“Clearly,” Derek said. “You haven’t met all the Argents.”

Allison winced at that. But she didn’t try to disagree. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, only to be broken by Scott’s attempt at a smile. “At least there’s no monster of the week, right?”

“Don’t jinx it, McCall,” Jackson said. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Scott flashed his eyes at the beta and Jackson growled right back. Rolling her eyes, Lydia pushed herself up from her boyfriend’s side. “If we’re done here, which I assume we are, is Derek ordering dinner? Because I’m starving.”

Agreements echoed across the room. Derek rolled his eyes, but offered over his wallet as Lydia passed, and the red-haired girl took it with a smirk. Derek caught Scott’s arm while everyone else was distracted, pulling him off to the side of the room.

“Derek?”

“I want you to keep an eye on Stiles,” Derek said. “I’m going to talk to the Sheriff and let him know about our newest threat. Hunters don’t play by the same rules as the supernatural. But we might be able to use that against them if they cross a certain line. Plus, I want to know everything about this Stiles kid that we can find.”

“About what Peter said,” Scott said nervously. “Regarding Stiles. You don’t think he’s going to go after him, do you?”

“I’ll keep an eye on my uncle,” Derek said. Scott nodded. 

“Then I’ll talk to the Sheriff.”

Derek nodded and Scott moved back over to Allison’s side. Standing in the corner, Derek watched the rest of his pack quietly. A feeling of contentment and protectiveness washed over him. This was his pack, his family. No one was ever going to hurt them.

Especially not the Argents.

Derek would give his life to make sure of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles does his own research, Kate and Gerard are being elusive, and Derek meets the new teen hunter.

The rest of the week passed in the blink of an eye.

Gerard hadn’t been happy to hear about the pack knowing who Stiles was, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Surprisingly, Kate had been far more supportive. 

“They know who you are,” she said, smirking. “They know to be scared of you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, far less enthused. “They also know when to drag me out of class and rip out my throat in the janitor’s closet.”

“No, boy,” Gerard said, looking at him with a hard expression. “You’re the hunter, not a rabbit. You won’t let them lay a claw on you, is that understood?”

Stiles flinched, crumpling back into himself. He nodded silently and Gerard looked satisfied, leaving the room. Kate gave him a small, sympathetic smile before following. Stiles cursed himself for ever opening his mouth.

He went through the entire week with one hand near the blade hidden underneath his jacket, and one in a tight fist at his side. Stiles saw the betas who’d attacked him quite a few times between classes, and the girl always looked coldly at him, while her friends eyed Stiles like he was their next meal. They were probably wishing he would be.

The tension could’ve been cut with a knife. Stiles managed to single out who was in McCall’s pack by the way they looked at him, expressions hard and threatening. Sometimes, he thought they’d break the charade and flat out say they knew exactly who he was. But that never happened. The days continued to pass by and Stiles continued to keep one eye over his shoulder.

He didn’t know exactly what Kate and Gerard were planning. They never fully brought him into their games, but he was starting to notice they’d be gone all night and come back early the next morning. Stiles knew it had something to do with the other hunters. This wasn’t terribly unusual though. Stiles knew his job; he was supposed to wait for orders while he kept an eye on the wolves. If something went wrong, he’d report it in.

So far, nothing had gone wrong.

Stiles started compiling together his own files to pass the time; the first one on Hale fire from all those years ago. Stiles didn’t know why he was so obsessed with it, but something about Kate's words and her reaction to it settled weird in his stomach. So he delved in further.

The second file was on all the reported deaths from the past decade or so; and the kids that would have been considered deceased then too. But that search wasn't turning up very much. Not with what Stiles could find online, anyway.

Which was how Stiles found himself leaving the library the next day and heading toward the police station. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for there exactly, but that seemed like a good next step.

The woman at the front desk smiled at him when Stiles approached, introducing himself as a BHHS senior and asking to meet with the Sheriff or one of the Deputies. Her eyes narrowed a little at the request and Stiles put on his best grin, shrugging.

“It’s for a project,” he said. “Economics. Big grade.”

Her expression softened. “The Sheriff’s still on his lunch break, but I’m sure I can convince one of the Deputies to take a break from their paperwork,” she said with a smile. “Got a name, kid?”

“Stiles,” he said. “Just Stiles.

“Well, ‘Just Stiles’, let me see who I can get for you.”

Stiles nodded, grinning. “You’re an absolute lifesaver, thank you.”

Stiles watched her turn away and then glanced around the office. Nothing about this place was very impressive; nothing about Beacon Hills in general was very impressive. But Stiles couldn’t help wondering about what his life might’ve been like if his parents had never been killed. If he’d grown up here rather than on the road, never staying in one place for longer than a year. 

Stiles wondered if his parents had liked the town. He wondered what kind of people they’d been, and what kind of jobs they’d had. Stiles glanced around the office and wondered if any of the officers had written up their death reports and what they’d thought about it. 

The woman came back into view, gesturing him past the front desk. Stiles put on a grin again and followed, messing with the straps of his backpack nervously.

“Derek here is our newest Deputy,” the woman said, leading him to a desk in the very back of the office. “But he’s more than happy to speak with you.”

Stiles glanced at the man she gestured to. The guy was youngish; maybe in his twenties or so. He was startlingly attractive and looking at Stiles with something akin to both anger and hatred in his eyes. He certainly didn’t  _ look  _ like he was more than happy to speak with Stiles. In fact, he didn’t even look happy to be breathing the same air. And when Derek offered a smile, it was tight and threatening.

“Glad to meet you,  _ Stiles.” _

Stiles blinked. Then his eyes flicked to the nameplate on the man’s desk and his blood turned to ice. Because in shiny letters read ‘Deputy Derek Hale’ and Stiles knew that instant that he was an idiot. But how the hell was an Alpha werewolf also a Deputy? That’d just be his luck.

_ Shit. _

“Actually,” Stiles said, his heart leaping into his throat. “Maybe I’ll just wing this project after all. I’d hate to be a distraction, you know.”

The desk woman looked at him in confusion. Derek put on a fake smile, revealing white teeth and a dark glint in his eyes, and leaned forward. “It’s no big deal, Stiles. Please, sit.”

“Deputy Hale is already one of the best in our department,” the woman said, leading Stiles to one of the chairs and sitting him down. Stiles’s brain was screaming  _ danger  _ but his feet wouldn’t move toward the exit. “I’m sure he’ll be a great help with your project.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, chuckling weakly. “I’m sure too.” 

The woman smiled and turned away, and Derek’s eyes flashed red. Just for a second, but it was enough to make Stiles's heart stop for a good three seconds. The wolf’s smile was gone and he looked downright murderous, keeping Stiles sitting frozen in place with his dark glare. 

“So, Stiles. What’s your project on?”

“Um,” Stiles said, his fingers twitching. The hunting knife he kept strapped to his ankle wasn’t that far of a reach but he was sitting in the Sheriff’s station; murder probably wouldn’t be overlooked. “I’m actually putting together a file.”

“Oh?” Derek’s teeth looked a little pointier. “What kind?”

“It might be familiar,” Stiles said, his tone hardening. “The Hale Fire?”

Derek’s eyes flashed again and his fingers gripped the arms of his chair so tight, Stiles realized his claws had come out. They dug straight through the leather. Stiles swallowed.

“Rings a bell?”

“Why are you here?” Derek said, his voice only an octave above a growl. Stiles could see the murder in his eyes. “Did Kate send you? Gerard?”

This time, it was Stiles’s turn to stiffen. Derek’s eyes gleamed and he sneered, leaning forward. 

“What have they told you about the fire, hunter?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said sharply, glaring at him. “Or I wouldn’t be here.”

Stiles didn’t miss the flash of surprise that sparked through Derek’s eyes. The man tensed and drew back, and Stiles started at him in confusion. 

“Wait, what do they know about it?”

“Why do you want to know?” Derek said. “Why do you want to know about the fire?”

Stiles gazed at him quietly. He didn’t have a good answer for that; because he didn’t quite know himself. Derek’s face twisted and he clenched his jaw. 

“What is this?” Derek said lowly. “You go after my betas and now you come here? Kate won’t come herself so she sends a child?”

“I’m eighteen,” Stiles snarled. “I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

“So you’re coming after us on your own then?” Derek’s eyes gleamed. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Stiles drew back at the obvious threat. He clenched his jaw and tried not to let his heart beat too fast, all too well that the wolf could hear it. Derek couldn’t do anything here, but Stiles couldn’t either. They were at a standpoint, neither one able to make a move beyond words.

“What kind of name is Stiles anyway?”

Stiles blinked, then snorted at that. He couldn’t help it; of all the things the Alpha werewolf wanted to know, it was his name. Granted, this wasn’t the first time Stiles received a comment like that. Kate told him it was a nickname from his old life. One he could keep without worrying about attracting old demons. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” Stiles said, smirking at him. “I’m hurt.”

“It’s not even a name.”

“Clearly it is,” Stiles shot back. “I’m wearing it, after all.”

Derek snarled. Stiles wiggled around on the chair, getting more comfortable as he continued to smirk. He should probably be a lot more scared than he was, but it was hard to be afraid of a glaring werewolf surrounded by police officers. Not to mention the werewolf was an officer himself. And Stiles was pretty sure murder was still illegal. If Derek killed him, would he have to arrest himself?

“So,” Stiles said, feeling a twinge of triumph when Derek’s gaze darkened. He wondered if the wolf could smell the lack of fear around him. “What kind of questions would I be allowed to ask regarding my ‘project’?”

Derek’s lips twisted. “That depends. Is it about the fire?”

“I can see that’s a touchy subject,” Stiles said, ignoring the way Derek’s eyes turned red for a second. “So I’ll ask something else instead. How exactly does this town deal with a supernatural threat every other week and yet somehow nobody seems to notice?”

Derek didn’t answer. But his jaw ticked.

“That’s a common thought I had when researching,” Stiles continued. “Because somehow, every single crime report blamed the event on an animal or some other ridiculous excuse. And nobody ever argued any differently.”

“Sounds simple to me,” Derek growled. “The reports are true.”

“But I think we both know that’s not true,” Stiles said. “I wondered if it came down to the police force. I mean, who else would have so much power influencing how crimes are filed?” 

Derek’s eyes flickered. He studied Stiles’s face and then his expression changed, a sneer of his own forming on his lips. “So I’m the one with the power here?”

“I’d assume so, big bad.”

Derek chuckled. “Then I take it you haven’t met the Sheriff yet?”

“What would the Sheriff have to do with any of—”

“What about me?”

Stiles stiffened. He sat up straight up in his seat and ignored Derek’s obvious smirk, turning to see an older man in the Sheriff’s uniform standing a few feet away. He had an empty salad container in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, looking at them curiously. 

Stiles swallowed. “Nothing, sir. I was just talking to Deputy Hale here about a school project he’s helping with.”

“Oh?” The Sheriff smiled friendlily, dropping his container in the trash and moving over. He gave Derek a little nod and looked at Stiles. “Beacon Hills High, I assume? What grade are you in, son?”

“Senior,” Stiles said. He could feel Derek watching but refused to look back. “I’m here to finish out my final year of highschool before heading back on the road. My guardians move around a lot.”

“Senior?” The Sheriff’s eyes brightened. “A friend of mine’s got a son in that grade too. Good kid, pretty smart when he applies himself. Maybe you’ve met him.”

“I’m not so sure, sir,” Stiles said honestly. “I just moved into town last week.”

“Oh?” The Sheriff tilted his head and glanced over at Derek. The wolf said nothing and Stiles tried to smother a flicker of confusion. The Sheriff looked back over. “His name’s Scott McCall; he’s on the lacrosse team. That’s a big thing in Beacon, you know. His mother’s a nurse at the local hospital.”

_ Freaking— _

Derek’s smirk was back. But Stiles tried to shake the look off, keeping his smile plastered on his face. Just because the Sheriff knew McCall didn’t mean he knew about… everything else. Stiles wasn’t going to let Derek get under his skin.

“Actually,” Stiles said. “I have met him. Only briefly, but I'm really hoping to get to know him a little better in the future.”

Derek’s smirk faded at that. His eyes hardened again and his expression turned dangerous, and Stiles resisted the urge to wink. The Sheriff looked more intrigued now.

“In fact,” Stiles continued. “He’s in a few of my classes. That’s always a good way to get close to someone, you know? We both have Harris,” Stiles shuddered for real at that. “Not a favorite of mine.”

“Ah,” the Sheriff said, his smile suddenly looking a little less certain. He glanced at Derek again and then looked back at Stiles. “What’d you say your name was again, kiddo?”

“Stiles,” Stiles said. “Just Stiles.”

The Sheriff stiffened, the light in his eyes vanishing. Stiles knew at that moment the man did indeed know about the wolves. He caught the obvious look between him and Derek, and the Sheriff’s expression was tighter when he looked back again. “That’s quite the name, kid.”

“I get that a lot,” Stiles said. “It’s a nickname.”

“For?”

“Beats me.”

Derek’s eyes flickered with surprise. Because Stiles wasn’t lying and he had no doubt his heartbeat made that obvious. The Sheriff studied him for a long moment. “We don’t get a lot of newcomers in Beacon Hills. Who are your parents?”

“No parents,” Stiles said coldly. “Guardians.”

“Legal?”

“Legal enough,” Stiles said. “Not that it matters, since I’m eighteen. They took me in after my parents were killed.” Stiles looked at Derek. “Animal attack.”

Derek’s eyes turned red. He didn’t even try to hide them and the Sheriff’s face tightened. 

_ “Derek.” _

“It’s alright, sir,” Stiles said. “I’ve seen it all before.”

“I think you should leave, son,” the Sheriff said. “Take your school project somewhere else.”

“Right,” Stiles said, standing. “I'll go.”

He watched Derek as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Stiles was sure his heartbeat was giving him away, but he couldn’t smother the sudden rush of anger that crashed over him. This was why Beacon Hills was so oblivious; its own police force was covering up the crimes of wolves. Stiles wondered how long this had been going on— and the Sheriff could’ve helped conceal the deaths of Stiles’s own parents.

“Terribly sorry,” Stiles said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Derek growled lowly.

Stiles started to turn away when a hand caught his shoulder. He looked back in surprise to see the Sheriff studying his face, his expression shockingly gentle. Stiles still tensed underneath his touch and the Sheriff slowly drew back. “Sir?”

“I’m not sure why you’ve decided to accompany your guardians to Beacon Hills, Stiles,” the Sheriff said. “But do know there are always ways we can help if things are… dangerous at home.”

Stiles stiffened, the underlying message sinking in instantly. He scowled. “Things are just fine at home. I’m here for myself, no one else.”

“Even if that’s true, son, do me a favor and be careful,” the Sheriff said, smiling sadly. “You have a full life ahead of you. And I know your line of work is a… dangerous one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles said sharply. Derek growled again.

Stiles turned and stalked out of the office, feeling both Derek and the Sheriff watching him. His face burned and his skin itched, like something had crawled underneath his skin. Stiles didn’t look back. He couldn’t make himself.

He was too angry to even think straight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles runs into trouble, Derek isn't happy about that, and Peter's a little shit.

Derek didn’t expect to go home that day and be met with the stench of blood. 

His first thought was for his pack, but the scent was unfamiliar. Sharp, electric, and with the faint hint of cinnamon. Derek shoved through the front door and followed the scent to the basement, where he reeled back at seeing a kid— no, Stiles— curled up in the corner, covered in blood with his hands taped behind his back. Peter stood over him and turned when Derek arrived.

“Nephew. So glad you could join us.”

“Peter,” Derek said, staring. “What the hell did you do?”

“Me?” Peter’s eyes flashed blue. “This hunter tracked you down to your place of work, Derek. He’s already proven he’s willing to face off with the other betas in broad daylight, what do you think he’d do against the Hale-McCall pack Alpha? Offer a few smiles and walk away? He would’ve led Kate and Gerard right to you.”

“You’ve been following him,” Derek said, unable to tear his eyes away from the unconscious lump. “All day?”

“All week, nephew. Think bigger picture.”

“Bigger picture involves you torturing a kid?”

“I haven’t tortured him,” Peter said, huffing. “Not yet. I just tossed him around a little bit. Humans can be so fragile.”

“This is asking for Kate and Gerard to retaliate,” Derek said, turning his glare fully on his uncle. Cold anger burned underneath his skin and he wasn’t exactly even sure why. A couple of hours ago, he’d been more than willing to tear Stiles’s throat out. But seeing him like this now—

“That is the point,” Peter said. “Why wait for them to bring the war to us when we could bring it to them?”

“This isn’t a war,” Derek growled. “It’s not even a fight yet.”

“The ones that killed my sister, your mother, and the rest of our family come back to town, and it’s not a war? Tell me, nephew,” Peter said, his eyes glittering. “When did you become such a coward?”

Derek growled, flashing his eyes. Peter sneered.

“You weren’t willing to do something, so I did. But don’t worry, he doesn’t remember anything of the trip here. He might’ve been a little… unconscious.”

“Go upstairs,” Derek said, his voice low. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“You’re going to deal with me?” Peter asked, looking incredulous. Derek let his fangs slot down, growl turning to a roar.

_ “Out, Peter.” _

Peter’s eyes turned blue and he looked like he might argue for a second. But instead, flashing his neck a little, Peter turned away and stalked up the stairs. Derek waited until he was gone before turning back to the unconscious hunter.

Stiles didn’t look as injured as Derek had originally assumed. He was bleeding from a gash across his forehead and one slicing through the fabric of his shirt, but that seemed to be all. His lip was split. The air smelled like metal and iron.

And the boy’s scent. It was one of cinnamon and… electricity. Like sparks ran through his veins. 

Derek shook his head and approached Stiles carefully. He crouched down at his side and sliced through the duct tape, before touching his arm to leech away some pain. This was probably the last thing he should be doing; Derek should be getting rid of this kid. He couldn’t quite smother the voice in the back of his mind that suggested getting rid  _ getting rid  _ of Stiles. It’d be one less hunter to worry about.

But Derek wasn’t a killer. He was a predator, yes, but not a killer. Not even to a hunter that’d probably drawn werewolf blood before. 

Derek was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Stiles shift. He didn’t even realize the boy was awake until his heartbeats stuttered and suddenly, Stiles was twisting, a leg wrapping around Derek’s neck and flipping him to the ground. Stiles straddled him with both legs and reached into his sweatshirt sleeve— only to curse. Before he could do anything else, Derek flipped him in retaliation, pressing a sharp claw to his neck that made the boy freeze.

“You beast,” Stiles said, glaring at him with fiery amber eyes. “What, we didn’t talk enough at the sheriff’s station? Or are you just here to finish the job?”

“What job?”

“Your psychotic uncle,” Stiles spat. Derek raised a brow and Stiles sneered with blood-stained teeth. “Yeah, I did my research. You think I didn’t realize he’s been stalking me all week?”

“I’d assume not, judging by the fact that you’re here and he’s the one that took you.”

“He caught me off guard,” Stiles said, eyes flashing. “Seriously, who kidnaps someone out of the bathroom? That’s invasive on a whole new level.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know,” Stiles mimicked, scoffing. “Oh, that I’m sure. Are you not the Alpha?”

“I am the Alpha,” Derek snarled, not appreciating his implications at all. “But my uncle is… difficult to control.”

“So he usually goes around grabbing innocent teenagers off the street?”

“Innocent?” Derek said, staring at him. “Yeah, innocent. A hunter who’s already threatened three of my betas face to face, and all the others less than five hours ago.”

“Threats and actions,” Stiles said, not looking bothered at all. “Are two different things.”

Derek growled lowly. Stiles shifted under him.

“So, are you going to finish the job? Cause my neck’s right here buddy, and you weigh a lot more than you probably think. So either rip out my throat or get off, got it?”

Derek glared at him. He hesitated for a second before standing back up and grabbing Stiles by the collar, yanking him up too. He should’ve been expecting the boy’s swing, but he gave himself a moment of weakness and stumbled back with a swear as Stiles's fist connected with his cheek. Derek started to turn with a snarl, but Stiles hooked a foot around his leg and  _ pulled  _ and Derek crashed to the floor.

His head bounced off the concrete. Groaning, Derek gazed at the basement ceiling for a second before coming back to his senses with a snarl, and clawing his way back up to his feet. The boy was already racing up the stairs.

Derek was going to  _ kill  _ Stiles.

The pack house was silent when he got up the stairs, scenting the air carefully. Stiles’s scent was everywhere; probably from the point Peter had dragged him in until now. But it was stronger in the kitchen and Derek came through the doorway right in time to dodge a blade slashing through the air. He snarled and ducked back, and Stiles swung again, kitchen knife catching the overhead light.

“Dammit, Stiles!”

Derek nearly caught his wrist, but misjudged his grab and the blade drove straight into his shoulder, making Derek howl. Stiles’s eyes flashed with triumph and he kicked Derek back, before taking off toward the side door. The one leading outside.

Derek swore and grabbed the knife, yanking it out. It fell to the tiles with a clatter, covered in blood. Derek pressed a hand against the wound, gathering his patience, and then stalked out the door after the boy. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go; there was over fifteen miles between the Hale house and Beacon Hills public. Derek would be able to catch him easily even if Stiles did run.

Which it looked like he was planning on doing. Except standing near the treeline, cutting off his path, was a smugly amused looking Peter. 

Stiles skidded to a stop and turned around; only to freeze when he saw Derek. The boy’s face did a series of things and he glanced between the two of them, as if deciding who was less of a threat. Derek growled when Stiles chose him, his irritation flickering even hotter.

“Get out of the way,” Stiles said, voice sharp. Derek huffed.

“Seriously?”

“Do I need to stab you again, Sourwolf?”

Derek’s brows shot up at both the threat and the nickname. Peter moved closer and Stiles tensed, throwing a glance over his shoulder before tightening his fists.

“I’m not going back in any mutt’s basement.”

Derek clenched his jaw. Behind the boy, Peter laughed.

“He’s a fiery one, Derek. You didn’t tell me that.”

Stiles turned around to face him. “Hey, Creeperwolf, care to take a few steps back? You touch me again and I’ll break your neck.”

Peter’s eyes flashed blue and he bared his teeth in amusement. Stiles snarled back.

“I like you, Stiles," Peter said. "Shame you’re not leaving this place.”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?”

“If you don’t recognize a threat for what it is, you’re in trouble boy,” Peter said. Derek growled a warning at the hunger in his uncle's eyes and Stiles spun back around, turning his snarl toward him.

“Kate and Gerard will kill you and your pack.”

Derek’s growl turned more dangerous. Stiles set his jaw and glanced around, scoffing. 

“The old Hale house, of course. Not that they don’t already know where you are. Seriously, Sourwolf, this isn’t a fight you’ll win.”

“And this isn’t a place you’ll leave,” Derek said. Stiles’s eyes flashed; but Derek had made his decision. He met Peter’s gaze with a nod and before Stiles could react, the older wolf delivered a sharp blow across the back of his head. Stiles dropped to the ground and Derek grimaced. Peter, on the other hand, looked downright ecstatic.

“I didn’t realize he was such a talker.”

“I don’t want him here,” Derek said. Peter arched a brow.

“Do you want me to take care of him, then?”

Derek snarled at that. Peter raised his hands, taking a step back.

“Okay, fine nephew, you can deal with him then. But use chains this time. Or something better than duct tape.”

Derek grunted. He waited until Peter started back toward the house, gazing at the unconscious boy, before sighing. He glanced at his shoulder but the knife wound had already stitched itself back together. Stiles had gotten him good— it would’ve been a lot worse if the blade had been touched by wolfsbane. Clearly, Stiles knew what he was doing.

That unsettled Derek even more. He looked back at the boy and wondered how the hell Kate and Gerard got their hands on him. Derek didn’t know how young hunters started; this kid could’ve been training to kill longer than he’d lived an actually normal life. 

Derek looked heavenward and took a deep breath. Then, slipping an arm under Stiles’s legs, he hefted him up and turned back toward the house. Derek didn’t really know what the hell they were going to do with him. Though maybe Peter was right; now they had something against the Argents. But would Kate or Gerard actually care?

Derek supposed they’d find out. Because if this kid could be leverage, then he was going to be leverage. And if he proved to be a problem— well, Derek brushed that thought off. That was a bridge they’d cross over later. Or hopefully, not at all. 

He kind of doubted that though. Stiles was already a problem.

Derek really should’ve seen this coming.

* * *

_ Stiles _ really should’ve seen this coming.

He woke up back in the basement but this time, instead of duct tape, there was a chain around his ankle and handcuffs clasped over his wrists. Stiles gazed at them for a couple of long, bleary seconds, then groaned, closing his eyes against the pain pounding through his skull. His entire body hurt— and he was hungry.

He was seriously hungry.

“You don’t look so great, Batman. Head hurt?”

Stiles’s eyes snapped back open and he yanked back as he saw a female wolf sitting on the steps across the room, eyes flashing as she smirked at him. Stiles’s heart plummeted as he recognized her; the one who’d attacked him a week ago. The one he’d stabbed.

Stiles wet his lips. “Batman?”

“A little hunter vigilante,” she said, lips curling. “That’s what you think you are, right? Going around and killing all the big bad wolves. Seems pretty in character to me.”

“So you’re what then,” Stiles said, arching a brow. “Catwoman?”

“I’d take it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You here to kill me?”

“I’d like to. But Derek says no.”

“Shame. Tell him to go right ahead, I don’t have any complaints.”

Erica huffed. Stiles shifted into a more comfortable position and settled his cuffed arms on his knees, shrugging. 

“I’d rather be dead than the prisoner of mutts.”

“Watch your word choice,” Erica said, eyes flashing golden again. “Not everyone here appreciates a sharp tongue and thinly veiled insults.”

“Are they really thinly veiled? Cause I can change that.”

Erica looked at him like Stiles was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. She pushed herself up and started forward, and he scrambled away until his back hit the basement wall. A wicked smirk claimed her lips again. “Scared, Batman?”

“Most people are taught to fear the big bad wolf.”

“Is that what we are?”

Stiles swallowed, not answering. She had golden eyes; Stiles knew what that meant. This wolf hadn’t taken an innocent life. But there was a reason Kate and Gerard were after Derek’s whole pack; so Stiles knew better than to let his guard down. Erica crouched down in front of him and studied his face.

“Why do you hate us?”

“Seriously?”

She shrugged, raising a brow. Stiles clenched his jaw. 

“You’re a wolf.”

“So naturally, a monster, right?”

“Like the monsters that killed my parents? Yeah.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “So Batman here loses his parents at a young age— also very in character— and what, decides everyone else is a threat now? Do I look like someone that would kill your parents?”

Stiles glared at her. Red lips smirked.

“That's what I thought.”

“What do you want?”

“Me?” Erica stood again and shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just here to watch the little hunter. Derek’s orders. The last thing he wants is his uncle trying to kill you again. Or one of the other werewolves.”

Stiles winced, remembering how he’d felt hands around his neck only second before Peter had knocked him out the first time. Then the way Derek had nodded over his shoulder and Stiles hadn’t been able to turn fast enough the second time. Not to mention, Peter wasn’t gentle when lugging him here. Stiles had woke up feeling like he’d been ripped apart and sewn back together multiple times.

He still hurt. And he was still hungry.

“So, does this kidnapping involve food?” Stiles asked, because why not. He was here and clearly, he wasn’t going anywhere. “Cause I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Erica snorted. Stiles blinked, because he’d been completely serious.

“Is that a no?”

“Really?”

“Am I not allowed to suffer normal human hunger pangs? I’m a growing boy, Catwoman, I need to eat.”

Erica narrowed her eyes at him, as if searching for the lie, but Stiles just smiled. Sighing, she turned away and started toward the stairs. Stiles leaned forward, cuffed ankle clanging a little.

“Bring curly fries!”

Erica responded by flipping the bird. Stiles huffed.

Of course, none of this was ideal. But for some reason, the wolves didn’t seem very inclined to kill him. And while Stiles didn’t exactly understand that, he wasn’t exactly complaining. Sort of. He didn’t know  _ what  _ they wanted with him and that made him nervous. But Kate and Gerard would come. Stiles was sure about that. Pretty sure

As long as none of the wolves laid a finger on him; or a fang. Either of the Alphas, really. Stiles shuddered to think about that. He just had to hold out; hold out until someone else came. And someone would.

Stiles hoped, at least.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is unnerved, Derek is rightfully angry, and they both face some new realizations.

Erica did not, actually, bring him curly fries. In fact, she came down over an hour later with the most pitiful sandwich Stiles had ever seen and he knew there was no way it’d taken her that long to make. Sitting up again, he scowled when she smirked and was sorely tempted not to take the sandwich at all.

But he was hungry. And he’d definitely eaten worse on the road.

“So,” he said. “What’s with the pitstop?”

“Pitstop?” Erica asked, looking at him innocently. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“This is a peanut butter sandwich, Catwoman. No jelly, nothing else, just a very thick layer of peanut butter between two layers of slightly-hard bread. It’s not an hour-long gourmet meal. Or curly fries.”

“I could take it back,” Erica said, eyes glowing threateningly. Stiles pulled the sandwich into his chest.

“Don’t touch my food.”

She smirked and settled down across from him. Stiles took a bite carefully, watching her the entire time, but it didn’t seem like Erica had poisoned it. Deciding that if that was how he was gonna go, that was how he was gonna go, Stiles took another large bite. He really was hungry, finishing it in less than five minutes. Erica arched a brow.

“And you were complaining.”

“I never said it was good,” Stiles said, licking peanut butter off his fingers. “But food is food.”

“Even though it’s not curly fries?”

“That is a crime, woman, but I won’t hold it against you.”

Erica smirked. Stiles sighed and stretched out his sore limbs, gazing around the empty basement. It was dark down here, so he didn’t actually know what time of day it was, but the light upstairs was growing dimmer, so he guessed it was nearing nightfall. Kate and Gerard would know something was up if he wasn’t back by morning.

And then hopefully, they’d come looking for him. With reinforcements.

Erica was watching him silently. Stiles met her gaze with a raised eyebrow and tried not to think that the light might be gone from her eyes fairly soon. Or the fact that he might be the one to do it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off and something was  _ wrong,  _ and that was a dangerous feeling to have.

Stiles knew better. He knew he should know better. 

It made his skin itch.

“You’re looking a little green,” Erica said, smirking. “Too much peanut butter?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “How long am I going to be kept down here?”

“That depends,” she said. “If I were to undo the chains, would you try and kill me?”

Stiles shrugged. It was all he could go. With werewolves being able to hear a lie, he wasn't going to attempt telling one blatantly. Erica scoffed.

“Then I don’t see you going anywhere anytime soon, Batman.”

“Someone will come for me eventually.”

“You really don't think that’s what we’re counting on?”

Stiles tensed a little. Erica’s eyes flashed gold and she bared her teeth in a half-shifted snarl. It made his heart leap into his throat and the reality of his situation sink in all over again. Maybe they'd fed him and maybe they that hadn’t killed him or done anything else, but that didn’t matter.

Stiles was still a human in a wolf’s den. A  _ hunter  _ in a wolf’s den. He should know better than to get comfortable.

“You want someone to come for me, don’t you?” he said. “Someone like Gerard. Or Kate.”

Erica shrugged. Stiles scowled.

“What am I then, bait?”

“Seems like the only thing you’re good for right now. Other than dead, that is.”

“And to think I was having second thoughts about everything.”

Her brows furrowed and Stiles snapped his mouth shut, cursing internally. He watched as Erica studied his face, tilting her head slightly as if she was listening to him; his heartbeat, Stiles realized, and she suddenly pushed herself up. He scrambled back but she ignored him, turning away.

“Hey!” Stiles called. “Where are you going?”

“Stay put, Batman,” Erica said, as if he had anywhere to go. “I’m sure someone will come down at some point to check on you.”

That made Stiles shudder. He sure hoped not— he didn’t trust any of them. His worst fear was Peter would come back, though, because that wolf gave him the creeps like no other. He was pretty sure he’d be dead right now if…  _ shit.  _ If Derek hadn't intervened. Not that Stiles owed him anything.

The Hale Alpha was doing this for his own gain. Stiles knew that. He also knew as soon as his usefulness ran up, he wouldn’t be alive much longer. Maybe Derek would hand him over to Peter, then. He probably would.

Stiles comforted himself with the idea that it was nearing nightfall. He wouldn’t be here much longer because someone would come for him.

Eventually.

* * *

There was a hunter in his basement—  Derek hated every single part of that realization.

There was a hunter in his basement and that fact was probably going to bring other hunters to his home. It made Derek sick to his stomach, knowing that was the point. He had to endanger his pack in order to help protect them. They had to take out these hunters in order for life to go back to normal.

Or at least, whatever it had been before. Derek wasn’t sure he’d call any of their lives normal, between the monsters of the week, to whatever other problem arose and turned things upside down. They never really had a moment of peace in Beacon Hills.

But the hunters weren't just a problem. They were a lot more dangerous than that.

Erica had come upstairs with a new opinion on that matter. And Derek didn’t know what to do about it.

“I could his heartbeat, Derek,” she said, arms crossed. “And I could smell his emotions. He’s not… scared of us, but he’s angry. And it’s not like he’s out for blood just to be out for blood. Something’s different.”

“He’s a hunter,” Peter said, scoffing from where he sat. “The last thing you want to do is trust a hunter. Or feel bad for them; feel anything, really.”

Derek winced at his uncle’s last words. Erica just looked irritated.

“I don’t feel bad for him,” she said. “Or trust him. I’m just saying, something doesn’t add up. And we trusted Allison eventually, didn’t we?”

“Allison’s no longer a hunter. Or at least, not the type we should fear.”

Erica huffed, looking to Derek for support. But he only shook his head with crossed arms and she growled in obvious displeasure, stalking from the room. Going to look for Boyd, Derek assumed. He clenched his jaw and glanced toward the basement stairs, where the scent of autumn and cinnamon mixed with blood and anger drifted up.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re actually considering her words,” Peter said, catching his gaze. “Derek, I tolerate your betas, you know that. But they’re still a bunch of untrained pups. Stiles is a teenager and the last thing you ever want to do is trust a teenager. That’s the only reason she feels bad for him.”

“I never said I was considering anything,” Derek growled. He didn’t take his eyes off the stairs, though, and Peter huffed.

“Don’t let this be a repeat of anything from the past, nephew. He’s a hunter and he’d cut you open from head to toe if he had the chance. The boy is no better than Kate and no less dangerous, if I’ve seen how he can use a knife.”

Derek winced at that memory. Stiles plunging a kitchen knife into his shoulder hadn’t been pleasant, even if it hadn’t been coated in wolfsbane.

Derek looked at the stairs for a moment longer before making up his mind. Uncrossing his arms, he started forward and Peter sat straight up, eyes flashing blue as he stared incredulously after him.

“Nephew! Don’t be a fool!”

Derek ignored him, vanishing out of sight. He heard Peter groan.

Stiles was sitting leaned-up against the wall, playing idly with the handcuffs around his wrists as he hummed. But he sat straight up when Derek came into sight and his scent soured a little. Derek stopped a few feet away and the boy relaxed only a fraction.

“What?” Stiles said, arching a brow. “What brings you here, oh Alpha, great Alpha? Has the Sourwolf changed his attitude about killing teenagers after all?”

“You’re a hunter,” Derek growled. Stiles smirked.

“Astounding observation. Tell me, Sherlock, have you just figured that out? I thought it would’ve been obvious when I plunged the knife into your shoulder.”

Derek drew back his lips in a snarl. Stiles’s eyes flashed and he tensed again, but he didn’t shy away or draw back. Derek stepped forward and Stiles held his ground. “Why are you here? Why are you so determined to kill my back?”

“Have we not already been over this?”

“Hunters are supposed to have a code,” Derek said, eyes flashing red. They must’ve startled Stiles, because he jerked a little. His handcuffs clanged together. “Where in your code does it say to hunt teenage betas who’ve done nothing wrong?”

Stiles’s jaw clamped down hard, fingers tightening into fists. His eyes turned to steel and he didn’t answer. Derek could feel his claws poking into his palms now, as he took another step forward.

“None of them have done anything wrong.”

“None of them have blue eyes?”

Derek tensed and his mind flashed to Peter— to Jackson. Peter deserved them, yes, but Jackson didn’t. And Derek, well… he swallowed hard. Stiles’s mouth twisted in acknowledgment.

“Right.”

“Do you know Kate Argent burned my childhood home to the ground?”

Stiles’s smirk melted. He stared in shock and Derek sneered, realizing his sudden upper hand with angry bitterness. It'd seem the idiot  had come to the police station without knowing anything. What the hell was Stiles's game?

“There were children in the fire,” Derek said, his throat clogging a little. “Human children. There was my uncle’s wife and her unborn child. Kate knew this and she still set the house on fire. Trapped them all inside and watched it burn. You're sitting in the basement of what it used to be, hunter. Before I tore it all down and built everything up again.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that? What could that possibly bring me?”

“You’re lying,” Stiles said again, shoving himself to his feet. The cuff around his ankle clanged against the cement floor. “You’re trying to make me doubt them. You’re a wolf— nothing you say is true. You’re a  _ beast,  _ Hale.”

Derek snarled, fangs poking at his lips. He moved forward and caught Stiles’s wrist, making the boy gasp and jerk back. But Derek held on tight, pressing one of Stiles’s fingers against a pulse point. Humans couldn’t hear a heartbeat; they couldn’t hear when someone was lying, and that frustrated him to no end.  But Stiles could feel this.

“Kate killed my family,” Derek said, voice cold. “She’s a killer and if she was a werewolf, she’d have her own set of blue eyes. Would you hunt her down too?”

Stiles stared at him, barely breathing. Derek could hear his heart thudding against his chest and feel Stiles’s finger tremble pressed against his skin. The boy’s eyes were wide and he stared for a moment before shaking his head and yanking back. He moved until he was pressed against the wall, scent sour and head still shaking.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You know I’m not lying.”

Stiles didn’t say a word. His heartbeat sounded like he was about to have a panic attack and his breaths were coming out in short, gasping breaths. Derek held his gaze for a moment longer before growling and turning on his heel, stalking back toward the stairs. He could feel Stiles’s eyes burning into his back the entire way, following his every movement.

Peter was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. His uncle raised a brow and looked unimpressed; Derek had no doubts he’d heard everything.

“And what exactly was that supposed to have accomplished, Derek?”

“Shut up.”

“He’s not going to change his mind because  implored  him to, nephew. He’s a hunter born and raised. Give him a knife and free him of his chains and I guarantee you he won’t hesitate before using it.”

“Shut  _ up,  _ Peter.”

Peter pressed his lips together. But his face softened and he reached out, squeezing Derek’s shoulder gently. Derek hated how much he needed that right now, fighting the urge to lean into the touch. 

“I can’t kill him,” Derek said. “I can’t kill a teenager, Peter.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.”

“Really? If he brings us Kate and Gerard, what do we do then? Let him go knowing he’ll be hunting down others? Let him go knowing he might come back?” Derek didn’t know if that’d be better or worse than taking Stiles out; if he let the boy go and Stiles kept hunting, who was the real killer?

Derek clenched his jaw. This— this part of being an Alpha, he hated. He had no doubts his mother would've known what to do. And he had no doubts she would've done what was necessary. 

But Derek couldn’t. Peter… Peter could, and Derek could read that in his uncle’s eyes as Peter looked at him quietly. But that still made him sick.

“Right now,” Derek said, forcing the words out. “That’s not the problem.”

“And if it should come to be?”

“I’ll figure things out.”

“I think you have already, nephew. Is Stiles really worth the lives of your pack?”

Derek pulled away from Peter's touch. He glanced toward the stairs where Stiles’s heartbeat still sounded like a panicked rabbit and growled, turning away. Peter didn’t say anything else as Derek left the room, heart in his throat.  Because they both knew that was answer enough. 

It just wasn’t one Derek could make himself say out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I haven't updated this fic for a hot second! I keep letting myself start new works and I swear, it's an addiction. But I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and as always, the comments and support you guys leave makes my day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles faces new revelations, Derek is unwilling to put him down, and the pack unleashes his internal hunter.

Stiles took deep breaths in and out, doing his best to stave off a panic attack. 

He could feel his throat closing and the walls of the basement suddenly seemed too small. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles ground his teeth together and tried to focus on something, anything. Anything other than Derek’s words and the steadiness of his pulse when he'd called Kate a killer.

_ She’d have blue eyes too, _ he'd said.  But the fire. The fire wasn’t the doing of a hunter; it couldn’t be. There had been children in that house. Human children.

Some part of Stiles’s brain was screaming that Derek must have been lying. He was a werewolf, a monster, and that was what they did. They lied and they hurt and they killed. That part of Stiles's brain was so desperate for that to be true, he felt himself tearing in two.

Because Stiles didn’t have the ability to tell when someone was lying. But when he’d seen the raw pain in Derek’s eyes and felt the werewolf’s steady heartbeat beneath the touch of his finger, Stiles knew he had been hearing the truth.

He couldn’t breathe correctly. The room around him was nothing but black dots and ragged breaths of cold air. Stiles bit down hard on his arm and bit back a scream.

Suddenly, he could hear feet on the staircase. Someone was racing down them and Stiles looked up sharply as a figure came into view, dropping onto their knees in front of him. Panic in this throat, Stiles couldn’t properly make out a face, but he could feel a hand cupping the back of his neck.

“Allison, he’s panicking. Where’s Derek? What do we do?”

“Derek’s out,” came a female voice. Someone else crouched in front of him and took his hand. “Stiles, I need you to breathe for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Stiles tried to yank away, but he didn't have anywhere to go. His cuffed hands clanged and he heard a curse.

Then there was the sound of snapping metal and Stiles’s hands were free. He yanked loose and brought them to his face, pressing his palms against his eyes as he tried to catch a breath. Someone was rubbing the back of his neck and whispering soothing words.

Stiles hadn’t had a panic attack like this in a long time. But the last time he did, Gerad had told him to suck it up and get himself back on track.

No one had ever walked him through one of these.

After a moment, Stiles could breathe properly again. His vision cleared and his heart stopped feeling like it was going to pound straight out of his chest. Stiles stopped feeling like he was about to die.

Then the reality of the situation sunk in.

Startling, he yanked away and scrambled back into the corner. He recognized Scott and Allison crouching across from him, Scott’s hands raised in surrender, and Allison watching him carefully. Stiles massaged a hand over his raw wrists and stared at them.

“What the hell was that?” he said, voice a little raspy. Scott looked confused.

“You sounded like you were having a heart attack.”

“So? Why did you come?”

Scott and Allison exchanged looks. Then Allison started forward, slowing down when Stiles tensed. He didn’t have a weapon on him; they’d all been taken when he’d first woken up here, but he could defend himself well enough if he needed to.

Allison looked like she was trying to let him know he didn’t need too. Stiles didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Stiles,” she said carefully. “Neither of us are going to hurt you.”

Stiles chuckled humorlessly. “Oh? That’s comforting.”

“How long have you been down here?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn’t actually sure if he was being honest. He was pretty sure only a day, but it might be nearing two now. Or three. He was at the point where Kate and Gerard must’ve realized he was gone by now.

Stiles wasn’t as comforted by that fact as he'd been twenty-four hours ago.

“A day or two," he said carefully.  Scott’s eyebrows shot up. 

It was almost as if neither of them had even known he was down here and Stiles… well, Stiles didn’t know what to do with that either. Allison clenched her jaw and looked beyond angry.

“It smells like Derek down here,” Scott said. “And Erica and Peter too.”

“Peter,” Allison said, words souring. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Stiles slowly stood, glancing between them. Scott cast him a quick glance but didn’t seem angry or unfriendly or anything. Just a little cautious.

“Kate’s going to retaliate,” Allison said. “God, are they idiots? Are they looking for a fight?”

“Stiles,” Scott said. “How did you get here?”

Stiles chewed on the inside of his cheek and didn’t answer that. There was still a cuff around his ankle so he couldn’t get out of here if he wanted to, but at least his wrists were free. And he had these two to thank for that.

Stiles didn’t like that. Being in someone’s debt.

Scott suddenly turned his head toward the stairs and tilted his head. Then he looked at Allison. “Derek’s back with the others.”

“He’s got some things to explain,” Allison said, starting toward the stairs. Scott moved to follow but hesitated on the first step, glancing back.

“We’ll… be back. Are you okay?”

Stiles didn’t know how to answer that. So he settled for a nod and Scott offered a reassuring smile— a _reassuring_ _ smile—  _ before following Allison out of sight. Stiles stared at the empty staircase for a second.

Then he shook his head. “What the hell?”

Of course, no one answered him. Because he was in the  _ basement  _ of a bunch of  _ werewolves.  _ None of which were supposed to be comforting or friendly or— fuck, Stiles had to get out of here. He didn’t know where he’d go after, throat closing up at that realization, but he had to get out.

He had to confront Kate. He had to hear what Derek had said wasn’t true.

With that thought, Stiles glared down at his cuffed ankle. He wasn’t going anywhere with this bastard holding him in place. Stiles sunk down and ran his thumb around it, then gazed around the empty basement. 

He knew how to pick a lock. If he could just find the right tools.

Stiles’s gaze zeroed in on a flathead screwdriver lying next to the pile of who-knew-what in the other corner. Glancing at the chain again, Stiles started forward until it grew taut. Then, cursing, he lowered himself onto his stomach and stretched as far as he could.

His fingers brushed against the handle. Stiles ground his teeth together and reached even further, sure he was about to hear a limb pop.

But instead, he pulled back, dragging the screwdriver with him. Stiles grinned, bright and triumphant. Turning back to his cuffed ankle, Stiles took to work.

It wasn’t hard, but it took a lot of maneuvering, cursing, and a few anxious glances toward the staircase. But after a few tries, Stiles got the angle of the flathead just right and grinned as his cuff opened with a click. Pushing himself up, Stiles scanned the basement and, seeing no other exit other than the stairs, cursed.

He started toward them quietly, still holding the screwdriver. It was better than nothing if he came face-to-face with a wolf. Which Stiles would rather not, but things never went his way.

The moment he came over the stairs, a dozen eyes snapped to him. Stiles froze and then wilted.

Things never went his way.

“Uh,” a curly-haired boy said. Stiles  recognized  from his first meeting with the wolves and it made his skin crawl. “How did he get loose?”

Scott and Allison exchanged guilty glances and Derek stood, glaring at him. Stiles immediately brandished the screwdriver, his eyes darting to the door beyond the main room. One that he probably wouldn’t make it to fast enough.

“This,” Peter said, giving Scott an unimpressed glance. “Is why we had him in two types of restraints.”

Scott winced. Stiles snarled as Derek took a step forward, retreating a few steps to the side. They circled each other for a second and then Derek sighed, crossing his arms.

“You can’t possibly expect to be going anywhere, Stiles.”

“Try me, asshole.”

From one of the sofas, a girl with red-hair arched a brow and tutted. Stiles glared at her before looking at Derek again. His heart thudded against his chest; because he couldn’t really hope to go anywhere. But he wasn’t going to wait out a rescue in their stupid basement.

To his surprise, Derek didn’t do anything, though. He only looked tired and glanced back at his uncle. Peter shrugged.

“Maybe that’s why no one’s coming for him,” a douchey-looking boy said. “He’s just that annoying. I bet they're glad to be rid of him.”

“Jackson,” the red-haired girl chided. “Play nice.”

“No, he’s going somewhere,” the curly-haired boy said. “I mean, it’s nearing three days now.”

“Isaac, you’re not allowed to agree with Jackson ever again,” Erica said, shuddering. She gave Stiles what could’ve been a sympathetic look, if not for the dangerous gleam in her eyes. “What are we supposed to do with him, then? Give him back? That kind of makes the whole thing loose its point, doesn't it?”

“Don’t forget Peter started this whole thing,” Allison said, shooting Peter a dark look. “Stiles wouldn’t even be here otherwise.”

“Fair point,” Peter said, looking unperturbed. “But I really don’t care. It’s one less hunter off the streets.”

“Hunter,” Jackson said with a scoff. “He doesn’t look like much of a hunter.”

“I’m right here, douchebag,” Stiles said. “Come a little closer and say that again. Or are you less of a wolf and more of a kitten?”

Jackson was on his feet in a second, lips pulled back in a snarl. The red-haired girl quickly caught his arm and pulled him back, shooting Stiles an exasperated look.

“Are you trying to make everyone want to kill you?”

“Is that not your natural default?”

“Oh come on, Lydia, if he wants it so bad, I say we kill him,” Isaac said. “I mean, clearly the basement doesn’t work. Maybe five feet in the ground would.”

Stiles tensed. The red-haired girl— Lydia— rolled her eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

The eyes of the wolves moved from Stiles to Derek, and waited. Waited for what he had to say, Stiles realized. His heart thudded against his chest.

“He’s not going back to the Argents,” Derek said, his eyes never leaving Stiles. Stiles had a sudden flashback of their last conversation with a small shiver. Derek seemed to catch it, though, because his eyes darkened. “But he’s not leaving either.”

“So we’re gonna kill him.”

“We’re not going to kill him,” Derek said, giving Jackson an exasperated look. The douche just shrugged and settled back against Lydia’s side.

"Fine. But I’m not getting stuck on babysitting duty.”

Stiles didn’t know what to do with any of this conversation, so he settled with staying on his guard and watching Derek carefully. The man took a careful step forward and Stiles gripped the screwdriver tighter— but then the Alpha's eyes flicked to something behind Stiles.

This time, Stiles moved fast enough.

Instead of getting clobbered over the head for the second time since his capture, he managed to spin around and drive his screwdriver as hard as he could into the shoulder of his attacker. The dark-skinned guy behind him let out a pained grunt as Erica was on her feet in a second, the name  _ ‘Boyd!’  _ leaving her lips.

Boyd’s eyes flashed golden and he half-shifted, snarling. Stiles stumbled back as the boy ripped the screwdriver from his shoulder and threw it to the side, before advancing on Stiles like a wolf on prey.

Which was unfortunately accurate.

“Boyd, no!” Derek shouted, shoving past Stiles to grab the werewolf’s shoulders. Boyd growled and tried to break loose, claws swiping through the air, and Stiles yelped, spinning on his heel. He came face to face with the rest of the werewolves and his stomach flipped.

“You,” Jackson said, eyes blue— and Stiles didn’t know the hell he became so popular in this house— “Are so dead.”

“We’re not killing him,” Lydia said, smacking the boy's arm. Stiles couldn't help but notice that Peter was the only one who hadn’t stood, and the man just looked bored, raising an eyebrow in Stiles’s direction.

“Not even a little bit?”

Stiles glared at him, balling his fists. 

Isaac moved first and Stiles dodged, catching the boy’s arm and driving his knee into his stomach. Isaac made a sound of pain and when he looked up again, his eyes were golden. Stiles quickly let go, shoving him back.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, still holding Boyd back. He looked furious. “Stop pissing off the betas!”

_ Pissing off the— _

Stiles realized something then. Most of the wolves in this room had no control over their shift and that could either be really bad… or really good for him.

He decided to try and go with good.

When Erica and Isaac moved at him, Stiles grabbed the nearest thing within reach— a table lamp— and threw it at their feet. The room was pure chaos now, as he grabbed the table too, overturning it as Erica leaped forward. She went down and Isaac closely followed, tripping up in the mess of glass. Stiles moved around them and yelped as Jackson shoved himself forward, ducking a swipe.

“Stiles!” Scott said, sounding genuinely concerned. “Stop it!”

Stiles grabbed a couch pillow this time and smacked it across Jackson’s face— not as impactful as he would’ve hoped for. When the werewolf leaped at him again, Stiles kneed up as hard as he could, landing a blow right in the groin.

Jackson dropped like a rock. Stiles winced despite himself.

For some reason, Peter was still sitting and watching the entire thing go down. He looked amused and that annoyed the crap out of Stiles.

He wasn’t trying to be amusing, dammit.

Stiles faced Scott and Allison and looked from them, to the door, and back. Allison raised a hand and stepped forward. Slowly, like she was trying to calm a panicked animal. 

“Stiles,” she said. “We’re not the bad guys here.”

Stiles relaxed for a moment and looked at her. The girl relaxed too; and then Stiles leaped for the bookshelf, grabbing it as tight as he could, and yanking. He barely dodged getting crushed as it tipped over to the floor with a loud crash. Leaping over the scattered books, Stiles took off toward the door. 

A pair of claws caught him by the neckline of his shirt before he could make it, though. Peter smirked at him with blue eyes and clicked his tongue.

“Really, Stiles, you’re making a mess.”

“My deepest apologies,” Stiles said, jabbing an elbow into the man's stomach and yanking away with all his strength. There was a loud rip as his shirt tore. Half-clothed, Stiles took off toward the door. “Enjoy cleaning it up, asshole!”

Stiles made it out the door with the sound of pure chaos and angry growls behind him. He knew he had no chance of escaping this place on foot; in fact, Stiles assumed he had a few minutes. Tops.

Out of all the cars parked in front of the house, Stiles raced toward the Camaro. Whatever idiot drove it left the door unlocked and Stiles dove inside, fumbling around for the area underneath the car. He thanked his ADHD for the spiral that had sent him down the hole of learning to hotwire a car months ago.

He could thank his ADHD for a lot of things sometimes. From learning how to pick a lock to this. 

There was a sudden spark and then the Camaro came roaring to life. Stiles barked out a laugh and threw the gear shift into reverse; right as a very red-eyed and very angry Derek Hale came into view. Heart leaping into his throat, Stiles hit the gas and the Camaro went flying back.

He thought he heard a faint  _ ‘Stiles!’  _ before he was spinning the car around and then taking off down the dirt road. Stiles thought he heard an angry howl shatter the air too.

He was so terrified, he was shaking. But he’d also done it; he was free. He was… out. Out on his own, without help from Kate or Gerard. Stiles swallowed hard and pressed the gas pedal harder.

He had some questions for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it's been a few days since I've been here. But oh my gosh, I had fun with this chapter. BAMF Stiles will always be my favorite. 
> 
> Of course, the comments/support you guys leave makes my day. Stay safe out there!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr!
> 
> [the trashbin](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is pissed, Lydia is a genius, and Stiles has questions.

Derek stood in the empty driveway of the Hale house for a long time.

Stiles had long since vanished from sight _— in his Camaro—_ but Derek still had yet to move. He could hear the growls and complaining of his pack inside as they picked themselves up and tried to come to terms with what just happened, but Derek still didn't move. He hadn't come to terms yet either. He thought it might be a while until he did.

Stiles was gone. He’d been here minutes ago and now he was gone.

Derek blinked again, staring at the spot where his Camaro had been. It was taking its time sinking in and he still couldn’t believe Stiles was  _ gone.  _ Like, stolen his car and vanished back into town, gone.

“So, nephew,” Peter said, sidling up to his side. “Still happy with your decision of not killing the kid when we had the chance?”

“Shut up.”

“You sound a little surprised. Derek, did you really expect him to go along with everything we said without a fight?”

“Shut  _ up,  _ Peter.”

His uncle stepped back with a chuckle and Derek ground his teeth together, finally turning away. He stalked back inside to see the mess Stiles had made; an overturned bookshelf, a broken side table, and a shattered lamp. Boyd was still in the corner with Erica keeping him from shifting again, while the rest of the pack just looked plain pissed off.

Except for Scott. He looked hurt. And Lydia. She looked impressed. 

“You’ve gotta give it to him,” she said, moving to his side to survey the destruction. “He just took out a pack of werewolves with nothing but a screwdriver.”

Derek worked his jaw, nodding tightly. Lydia smirked.

“It was pretty smart, using the beta shifts against the betas. Like I said before; I would’ve been a lot more worried about graduating as valedictorian if he would’ve come to Beacon Hills a lot earlier.”

“Peter wants me to kill him.”

The words spilled out before Derek could stop them and Lydia looked at him in surprise, her smirk melting. Derek knew he shouldn't have said anything, but it felt good to get that off his chest, even if it was only to the red-haired banshee. Derek had his moments of appreciating her advice even if he’d never admit that out loud. And he would’ve told Scott, except he already knew what Scott would say.

They weren’t killers. Even if Stiles was a hunter. They couldn't kill him.

Except maybe they would have to.

“I wasn’t going to,” Derek said, eyes still fixed on the destruction of the room. "Not before."

“And now?”

“He’s dangerous. He’s… Kate dangerous.”

“Kate,” Lydia said, lips twisting at the name. “Kate Argent. The one who…?”

Derek nodded. Lydia sighed. 

“Well, you know I’d never agree with your uncle on anything, but yes, Stiles is probably dangerous. Depending on the side he’s on, at least.”

Derek looked at her in confusion at that. Lydia rolled her eyes, twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. 

“What the hell is a Stiles, Derek?”

“What.”

“What is a Stiles?” Lydia repeated, meeting his gaze. “We know nothing about him, other than the fact he’s a hunter that sided with the Argents."

“Yes,” Derek said, a little irritated. “That’s the problem.”

“Is it? Think things through,” Lydia said. “He came to Beacon Hills with the Argents— the bad ones— without a hint, a warning, or even a last name. He claims werewolves killed his parents, right? But who the hell are his parents?”

“Why does that matter?”

“What kind of person becomes a hunter and vows to avenge their parents, but also tosses their family name aside?” Lydia said, arching a perfectly manicured brow. “I tried to look into him, you know. When the rest of the pack was playing beat up the orphan and your uncle was joining in.”

Derek stared at her. For some reason, none of that had ever crossed his mind.

“I’m just saying,” Lydia said, shrugging. “We know everything about Kate and we know everything about Gerard. We even know things about the hunters they brought with them to Beacon Hills. But we know nothing about Stiles. So I'll ask again. What is a Stiles?"

Derek considered this for a moment. Slowly, the irritation and anger from earlier faded away and Lydia smirked in triumph. Nodding, Derek broke away from her side and starting back outside. But Peter caught his arm at the door. “Where are you going?”

“To bring Stiles back.”

“Derek,” Peter said. “I already told you not to let this be—”

“It’s not a repeat of Kate,” Derek snarled, flashing his eyes. Peter let go of his arm and drew back, and Derek took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “But I have questions. If… if I don’t get the answers I want, I’ll kill him.”

Peter’s brows furrowed as he listened to his heartbeat. Then his eyes widened. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Either I’ll bring him back here,” Derek said, turning away. “Or I’ll kill him.” And he meant it.

Every word.

* * *

There was a pistol aimed at his face the second Stiles opened the door to the safehouse.

He squawked and stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet when a hand caught his arm and steadied him. Kate lowered the gun and stared at him with a shocked expression, brown eyes sweeping up and down his frame.

“Little fox?”

Stiles pulled away and didn’t answer. Kate’s face turned guarded.

“You’ve been gone three days.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at his arm. For some reason, where she’d caught him felt like a brand had been pressed against his skin. “I’ve been sitting in the Hale basement for most of that time.”

_ “Hale?” _

“He didn’t bite me,” Stiles said, glancing over her shoulder. The rest of the house seemed empty. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was relieved or nervous about that. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Kate regarded him for another long moment. Then she stepped aside and Stiles moved past her, glancing around the room. They were alone.

“Where’s Gerard?”

“Out.”

“Is he…” Stiles swallowed hard and turned around. “Looking for me?”

Kate didn’t say anything. But her silence was answer enough and Stiles nodded, moving over to the couch. He sunk down hard and gazed at his hands.

“Did he look for me at all?”

“You know how it goes, little fox,” Kate said, moving over and sinking down opposite him. “You know what happens when a hunter goes missing in the field.”

“But—”  _ it’s me,  _ Stiles wanted to say. Gerard had practically raised him and Kate had taught him everything he knew. He’d always known what happened if things went wrong during a hunt but some naive part of him always thought he’d be different. Would Gerard have gone after Kate if it’d been her instead? Or would he have stuck to the rules too?

“I didn’t give up on you, though,” Kate said, smirking at him. “I knew you’d come back. The fox has bite, remember?”

“No,” Stiles said, a knot in his throat. “I don't. They could’ve killed me, but they didn’t.”

Kate’s smile slipped. Stiles raised his eyes, looking at her.

“Have you gone after the Hale’s before?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“They told me something,” Stiles said softly. “Der— Derek told me something. He said you’ve gone after them before.”

Kate’s face was hard again. This time, her eyes were too. “Derek.”

“Did you set the Hale fire?”

“Oh, little fox,” Kate said, pushing herself up. She moved around the coffee table and sat down at his side, and Stiles had to resist the urge to squirm away. Careful fingers reached out and touched the back of his hand and then moved up, tracing around the handcuff marks on his wrists. They were still a bright angry red. “The mutts have been filling your head with lies.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “So it’s not true?”

“Would you trust the word of the beasts over my own?”

Her fingers were moving up now, doing circles around his bare arm and then reaching out to touch his cheek. Stiles resisted the urge to pull away. Her touch felt alien. It felt wrong. 

Kate’s fingers tilted his chin toward her. Before he could think, Stiles caught her hand and touched his fingers against the pulse point at her wrists. The female hunter’s eyes flashed and her lips bared in a snarl for a second; but then her face relaxed. That easy smile came back, followed by the crook of a brow.

“What are you doing, sweetie?”

“Kate, did you set the fire?’

She chuckled and tried to pull away. Stiles held on tight.

“Kate, please.”

For a moment, she just looked at him. Then her other hand reached up and cupped his face, and Kate shook her head. “I’m a hunter, Stiles, but there were innocents in that fire. I’m not the kind of monster who would set a fire like that.”

Stiles held his breath. Underneath his touch, Kate’s heart beat steadily. Stiles felt relief crash over him and he nodded, pulling away. But a second before his fingers left her skin, he felt it. 

A skip. A flutter. The loss of a beat.

And Stiles felt like he could throw up right there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is torn, the Sheriff is awesome, and Derek is on the hunt.

Kate’s gaze never changed. Her smile never slipped.

Stiles drew back and felt sick. He found himself nodding though, despite his heart suddenly hammering against his chest. He should’ve just let it go. He should’ve just taken her word and not pushed any further.

Stiles silently hated himself for thinking that. He’d never would've forgiven himself if he found out about Kate’s lies later on— after he’d done something. Or she’d done something.

Something more. Because she and Gerard were going to do something more.

To the Hale-McCall pack.

Stiles looked down at the handcuff marks circling his wrists. He remembered Allison’s sympathetic gaze and the way Scott had broken them off. He remembered what Erica said;  _ “Do I look like someone that would kill your parents?” _

But they were werewolves. He was a hunter. Kate was a hunter. Things were supposed to be black and white. For as long as Stiles could remember they had been black and white.

How could things change now?

He felt the familiar burn of his lungs and the constriction of his chest and forced himself to take a deep breath. Stiles wasn’t going to have a panic attack here. Kate was studying his face and her smile was careful— cautious— and Stiles wasn’t going to show his hand.

Because… because he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t.

But where else could he go?

“Where’s Gerard?” Stiles said, voice hollow. Kate tilted her head. 

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Oh, don’t worry your cute little head about that, sweetheart. He’ll be back soon and I’m sure he’ll want to hear all about your daring escape. If you don’t want to share it with me first.”

It was a test, Stiles knew that. But the wolves hadn’t let him go; this would a test he could pass. Taking a deep breath, Stiles explained everything from Peter’s surprise ambush to escaping his cuffs and ultimately, the Hale house. Kate was grinning when he finished.

“Oh, little fox, you certainly are something. I’ve always been proud of you, you know that, right?”

Stiles wanted to scoff. But instead, he nodded.

He could still feel how her heartbeat had jumped beneath his fingers. Briefly, Stiles wondered if he touched it again and asked Kate to repeat herself, if it’d do the same thing. If it was always doing the same thing. If everything that came out of her mouth, everything sweet word she’d ever offered to him had been a lie.

Stiles had always found sanctuary in Kate, where Gerard was the opposite. He tried to please Gerard— not her. Because Kate had always told him he didn't need to try. That he pleased her simply by being her ‘little fox’.

How much of that had been a lie?

Stiles shoved himself up so fast, he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Kate raised an eyebrow and Stiles chuckled nervously, backing toward his room.

“I’m going to… sleep. Didn’t get much of that chained up in a basement.”

“I have no doubts, little fox.”

Stiles smiled and turned away, stumbling down the hallway and ducking into the room at the very end. It was already a mess; papers scattered everywhere from his research binge when he’d first arrived. School books stacked forgotten at the end of his bed. A half-sheathed hunter’s knife lying on his desk.

Stiles closed the door at his back and leaned against it. Biting down on his lower lip, he took a deep breath and fought the urge to scream. 

Part of him wanted to go back out there and confront Kate. Or wait until Gerard came back and confront them both at the same time. But the more rational part of Stiles’s mind knew that was a terrible idea. That’d be asking for trouble.

Instead, he grabbed the knife and shoved it into his waistband. Stiles glanced back at his closed bedroom door and then looked at the window next to his bed, mulling over his choices for a second.

He couldn’t be here. Not right now.

Without stopping to consider the possible consequences, Stiles shoved the window open. Before he could change his mind, he pulled himself out and into the cool evening air. The Camaro was still in front of the house but Stiles went for his bike instead.

He wasn’t sure what happened now; where he went, or what he did. He only knew that he couldn’t stay put. He had to be somewhere else.

Anywhere.

* * *

The police station wasn’t a place Stiles had expected to show up at. But with his bike hidden around the corner and the sun setting behind him, Stiles found himself pushing inside. 

The same woman from before was behind the counter. She looked surprised at seeing Stiles, but smiled despite that.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles,” she said. “How goes the school project?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could get one last quote,” Stiles said, throat dry. “From the Sheriff. I, uh, barely missed him last time.”

The woman considered him for a moment. But then she nodded and gestured for Stiles to follow, leading him back into the office again. This time, they went straight past the deputy desks, though, and Stiles couldn’t help but glance at Derek’s empty one.

It made his stomach turn. He wondered if the Alpha was currently on the hunt to drag him back to the Hale basement.

Or worse.

The woman paused at an office at the very back of the station and knocked on the closed door. It opened after only a moment and the Sheriff looked confused for a moment— but then he saw Stiles and his face cleared. 

“Ah. Another school visit?”

“I know it’s late,” Stiles said, words catching. “But I was wondering if I could get one last quote. For my… project.”

The man’s face didn’t betray a thing as he nodded, stepping aside. Stiles ducked past and stared at the opposite wall with a thudding heart as the Sheriff murmured something soft to the other woman and then shut the door again. For a moment, silence fell over the office. 

Then, “Is there something I can help you with, son?”

And Stiles felt his resolve crack.

The Sheriff moved around his desk and sat down, gesturing for Stiles to do the same in the chairs in front of it. Stiles felt detached from his body when he did, looking quietly at the man. The Sheriff’s expression turned confused.

“Son?”

“My parents died here,” Stiles said, the words tumbling out. “They were killed by werewolves when I was a baby.”

The Sheriff straightened. Stiles felt like his stomach had turned into a pit. 

“I came back to get revenge,” Stiles continued, voice starting to shake. “But I don’t know what revenge is anymore. I think— I think I’ve been lied to. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay,” the Sheriff said carefully. “Let’s start from the beginning. What’s your full name, son?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure your parents died here? In this town?”

And the thing was, Stiles wasn't. He didn’t know anything for sure; he only knew what Kate had told him. Gerard had been angry when she’d shared information and forbidden her from saying anything else. In fact, he’d forbidden Stiles to ask about his past ever again. 

“No,” Stiles whispered. "I'm not sure." 

The Sheriff’s eyes softened.  “What happened, Stiles? What brings you here?”

And Stiles couldn’t believe he’d remembered his name. No one ever remembered his name. They always asked once— asked what it stood for— made a comment about how strange it was— and then proceeded to forget until Stiles ran into them again. Like the woman from the front desk. Like everyone else Stiles had ever known other than Kate and Gerard.

“I found something out,” Stiles said softly. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Can you tell me what?”

The words stuck in Stiles’s throat, some bit of ingrained loyalty making his jaw clamp shut. He shook his head and the Sheriff nodded with a small sigh.

“That’s okay. You’re here with the Argents, aren't you?”

“You know about werewolves," Stiles said, taking the conversation in a complete different direction. The Sheriff's eyebrows raised, but he nodded.

“I do,” he said. “I have for years.”

“Why?”

The man looked confused at that. Stiles gripped the arms of his chair tight and tried to take a deep breath, but it came out trembling. His heart rammed against his chest. 

“Why wouldn’t you stop them?”

“Stop them from what?”

“Killing my parents,” Stiles said, anger turning his words as cold as ice. But the Sheriff didn’t react, holding his gaze steady. Stiles kind of wanted to scream at that; to demand answers. To demand an explanation.

Except it wasn’t the Sheriff he was searching for answers from, Stiles knew. He just needed to get the words out. He needed to let it all loose. Stiles dropped his gaze and shook his head.

“I've spent my entire life blaming werewolves for what happened. It’s hunt or be hunted, Gerard said. And sometimes, I hated my parents for that. Because they weren’t there; they let themselves be hunted.”

Silence met his words for a long moment. Then the Sheriff let out a long breath. “I’m not sure how I can help you here, son.”

“I don’t need help,” Stiles said. His voice was steadier as he looked back up. Because the realization hit him like a punch then. In this town, people were still being hunted. Only this time, they weren’t people. Not exactly. “But I think the Hale-McCall pack might.”

The Sheriff stiffened. “What?”

“Kate and Gerard are going to kill them,” Stiles said. The entire time, there was some part of his mind screaming for him to stop. Some part that remembered the days of training, the road trips where Kate would buy him Reeses, and the nights when he’d listen to them talk strategy while he did homework.

It was hunt or be hunted, Gerard always told him. Did that apply to the mutts too?

“Kate and Gerard are going to kill them,” Stiles repeated, decision made. “And I don’t think I can stop them alone.”

* * *

Derek followed Stiles’s scent all the way to a safehouse located on the edge of town. Irritation pricked underneath his skin as he saw his Camaro parked out front and surveyed the bright lights coming from the inside.

Stiles’s scent was… muddled here. Possibly because he’d been all over the place, or possibly because there was another scent trying to fill Derek’s nose. One he hadn’t thought about in years and made him want to both gag and rip his hair out.

One that was sweet, like flowers. But dangerous, like poison.

He could smell Kate.

Gerard’s scent was in the air too, but the old man’s was much fainter. There was gunpowder, and flowers, and cinnamon, and Derek could narrow Stiles’s down easily. He didn’t want to dwell on that; how easily it’d gotten underneath his skin and stayed there.

A bit like Stiles himself from the moment Derek had run into him.

Derek growled lowly and focused his attention on the safehouse again. He could try to pin down Stiles’s room and grab the boy when the lights went off, but that would be risky. He could wait and see what tomorrow brought, but Derek didn’t want to be out here all night.

_ ‘If I don’t like what I hear, I’ll kill him,’  _ he’d told Peter. And if Stiles… if Stiles was like Kate, Derek would kill him.

His eyes were already blue underneath the red. What would it change?

Derek scented the air again. Stiles’s scent was fresh, but also faint. Like he’d been here, but wasn't anymore. Which wouldn’t make sense— where else would he go? He couldn’t be stupid enough to wander around town at night. Not when it was obvious someone in the pack would be coming after him.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them.

Usually, it seemed.

Derek moved, circling around the safehouse. He moved to where Stiles’s scent was strongest; and slowed to a stop. 

He was looking at an open window, leading to a small bedroom with the light still on. The scent of Stiles was all around the window and as Derek moved closer, he realized it filled the room too. But the room itself was empty. And, as Derek listened closely, he could only hear one heartbeat. One he couldn’t quite pin down to a certain location.

It was somewhere close. An adjoining room, maybe.

Growling, Derek glared at the empty room. He could stay. Wait until Stiles came back and take him then. But Derek wasn't an idiot and he knew that was stupid. In fact, Stiles could be anywhere right now. For all Derek knew, the hunter had come back and pointed Kate and Gerard right back to the Hale house.

Dread clogged his throat then. Derek could be here, trying to grab a teenage boy, while Stiles led hunters right back to his home. Right back to his pack. Unexpecting and abandoned by their Alpha.

Derek was an idiot.

Derek turned away with a growl and moved around the safehouse again.

Only to freeze at the sight of a gun barrel.

“Well,” Kate said, tilting her head. “I was waiting for the little fox to come back, but apparently I wasn’t the only one. Did he not go running back to your pack of mutts, Derek? That’s what I’d thought when I saw the empty room.”

Derek stared at the gun, his mind was moving slowly. Stiles had left? Where the hell had he gone?

“Did you come to get your pet human back, Derek?” Kate crooned, stepping closer. Derek went rigid at the softness of her voice. The delicate edge that he hadn’t heard for years. Not since— not since—

He couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the spot, memories crashing over him.

“You always fall for the wrong ones,” Kate said, close enough that she could touch his face. But instead, the barrel of her gun tipped underneath his chin, cold and oily.

That made Derek snap back to reality. He snarled, eyes turning red, and raised a clawed hand. Kates’s expression turned surprised for a moment.

And then someone shot him point-blank. Not Kate. Her gun was still nestled in the soft spot of Derek’s chin, the trigger yet to be pulled.

No, someone had shot him in the back. Near his shoulder, Derek realized, as he stumbled forward and Kate laughed, moving aside as he collapsed to the forest floor. Someone had shot him in the back and Derek could feel the burn of wolfsbane turning his blood to poison.

The last thing Derek smelled was cinnamon. He heard light footsteps approaching and felt a strange pang of betrayal.

And everything turned to black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles heads back to the safe house, Derek is in trouble, and they fall into an awkward agreement.

The first thing Stiles noticed was that the lights of the safe house were still on. He slowed as he approached, leading his bike down the dirt path as quietly as he could. But he knew the gig was up the moment he approached the house and the front door swung open.

“Ah, little fox,” Kate said, sounding disappointed. “Had some place to be?”

“I, uh, needed to clear my head,” Stiles said, and it wasn’t a lie. He could feel her eyes searching him up and down, finally lingering on his face as if searching for the truth, before Kate smiled again. There was a glint in her eyes that was a little too ecstatic.

“We had a visitor while you were gone. I was worried you’d gone back to the mutts.”

Stiles was instantly on his guard. When he’d gone into the police station, he'd made sure nobody had seen him. And when he left it, he was sure he’d gone unseen too. But he wouldn’t put it past Gerard to have eyes all over the town. “Why would you think that?”

“Sometimes they can be very persuasive,” Kate said, searching his face again. Stiles tried to keep his expression as blank as possible. Part of him wanted to say _‘what happened to never doubting me?’_ but he managed to hold his tongue. Kate sighed and opened the door wider, moving aside so he could brush past her. “But that’s not the point. The point is, we should be thanking you. Because your genius escape of the Hale pack brought us a visitor.”

Stiles wasn’t sure which part of that sentence to address first. Nervously, he ducked past. “We?”

“I ran into some trouble. Thankfully, Gerard came back in time to help me clear it up.”

“... And the visitor?”

Kate chuckled and closed the door, clicking the lock shut. Stiles tried to ignore the way his throat clogged at that, or how she gave him a sideways glance, judging his expression. Stiles kept a curious smile on his face. “Gerard’s with him now. I was hoping you’d be back soon.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Stiles said, following her across the room and toward one of the doors that had remained locked the entire time he’d been here. He’d never really paid it much attention; Kate had just brushed it aside as the cellar when they’d first arrived. Stiles hadn’t seen a reason to press more than that.

“I know, little fox,” Kate said, unlocking the door and pulling it open. She ruffled his hair as he passed. Just like she used to when he was younger. “I never really doubted you.”

Once more, Stiles’s throat tightened. He wanted to call her out, wanted to call her a liar. But he was smarter than that.

There were some things Stiles had come back for. Like the layout of the other hunters, the sketch of the game plan, and the pad of notes that Kate and Gerard always kept whenever they were going over a hunt. Once he had those things, he'd be leaving and never coming back again.

He'd be betraying Kate and Gerard.

It felt strange to be thinking like that. Despite all the things Stiles had spilled at the police station. Despite the decision he'd already made.

He started nervously down the steps. Some part of Stiles had known there was a lower floor to the safe house, but he’d never given it much thought. It didn’t seem to matter.

Until now, apparently.

Kate followed him down too and grinned when Stiles glanced over. She took the lead and he followed her down the small hall and could hear a voice at the end. Gerard; he’d recognize that voice answer.

Then a sharp howl filled the air.

Stiles flinched back so hard, he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Because he _recognized_ that howl. 

He’d heard it when he’d been driving from the Hale house in the stolen Camaro. At that point, it’d been sharp with irritation and warning. Stiles had known better than to wait long enough to hear it cut off.

But this time— this time, the howl was full of pain. Stiles forced his feet forward, feeling Kate watching his every more. His throat tightened as the room opened up around them and Gerard turned around with a sick smile; away from the werewolf chained to the wall behind him.

Derek’s face was half-shifted. His eyes were blood red and he was shirtless. Electricity crackled along the wall and over the pair of tongs that Gerard held in his hands. Derek’s face and neck were beaded with sweat. His face was twisted in pain.

And he was looking at Stiles with nothing other than murder in his eyes.

“Oh,” Stiles said, voice small. “A visitor.”

“Stiles,” Gerard said, eyes crinkled. Stiles couldn’t help feeling sick to his stomach and his heart thudded against his chest. Usually, he’d be fighting for Gerard to look at him like that; like Stiles had done something right. Like he was proving himself.

Right now, it made him want to curl in on himself. The look was unsettling. It was wrong.

Stiles knew he was too far gone to leave now.

“Poor sweetie,” Kate said, moving toward Derek only to freeze and retreat back a step when he lashed out with flashing eyes. She only chuckled, though. “Not fun to have the tables turned, is it?”

Stiles could barely look Derek in the eye. Gerard beckoned him forward and Stiles’s feet felt heavy as the old man pushed the tongs into his hands. They felt heavy. Stiles could feel the electricity buzzing off of them. 

“You’ve killed a wolf before, boy,” Gerard said. “But the real power is holding the life of a captive one in your hands. Can you feel that? The thrum of electricity. One shock on high is enough to stop even a mutt's heart.”

Stiles nodded silently. Derek snarled at the back of his throat and Stiles smothered another flinch.

“Now,” Gerard said. “We’ve got a little pack of betas and a teenage Alpha sitting all unprotected in the woods. You’re going to keep a good hold on those,” he nodded toward the tongs. “And keep the mutt at bay while we clean house. Can you do that?”

Derek snarled again and the chains spiked, cutting him off into a whimper. Stiles kept his gaze on the floor, nodding.

“Good,” Gerard said, patting him on the shoulder. “You know what will happen if you fail.”

There was a threat to his voice, but Stiles really didn’t need to hear it. He could see the dark warning in the old man’s eyes and knew that if things went wrong, Stiles might as well be a wolf himself. With a dry mouth, he nodded again. The old man turned away and Kate hesitated for a second longer, her eyes lingering on Derek.

Then she smirked over at Stiles, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Don’t let us down, little fox.”

“I won't,” Stiles said. She chuckled.

“And don’t be scared to branch out a little. You’re the hunter, he’s the mutt. Sometimes they need to remember their place.”

Derek growled at that. Kate ignored him, ruffling Stiles’s hair as she followed Gerard back up the stairs and out of the cellar. Stiles heard the door close.

He also heard it lock.

Stiles's throat tightened and the moment they were alone, he stumbled over to the table, dropping the electric box like he’d been burned. He scrambled around the table until he found the one connected to the wall too, flipping that off as well.

Stiles slumped forward as the smell of burning flesh faded away. He felt boneless and he was shaking slightly, shoving his palms into his eyes as he groaned. “Dammit, shit, dammit.”

“... Stiles?”

Stiles winced and turned around. Derek’s face wasn’t shifted anymore and there was only a flicker of red in his eyes, as he studied Stiles like he’d grown horns. Stiles glanced at the shackles holding his wrists to the wall and moved forward, only to freeze as Derek tensed. "Okay, dude, don't bite me. Can I help?"

“What? Stiles, what the hell are you playing at?”

“God, you’re such a Sourwolf,” Stiles said, still a little shakily. “I'm trying to help. Now, are you gonna let me get you down or are you gonna keep grunting and growling until we’re both in chains because Kate’s not an idiot after all?”

Derek stared at him. Stiles rolled his eyes and traced his fingers over the shackles, before turning back to the table and searching for the key. It wasn’t there. Of course, it wasn’t there.

“Dammit,” he said. “Gerard didn’t leave it. Okay, Sourwolf, since you’re not currently getting fried, do you think you could do a little tugging and—”

Stiles turned around right as Derek _yanked_ and one of his shackles ripped loose. Yelping, Stiles stumbled back, and Derek ripped loose of the other one too. Before Stiles could react, Derek was stalking forward and he was stumbling back, until his back rammed against the wall and Derek had a hand wrapped around his throat. 

“Dude! Calm down!”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“What do you think?” Stiles said in irritation, smacking at the hand around his throat. “Don’t savage the rescuer! That’s not proper gratitude etiquette!”

Derek let go with what could only be considered a confused growl. Stiles drove his elbow into the man's stomach, just as retribution, and then jumped away from Derek’s return slash of claws.

“Stop it, Sourwolf! Or I swear to god, I’m going to beat your little wolfy ass and leave you here!”

“Why,” Derek said, eyes flickering red again. “Are you doing this?”

“What, would you rather I chain you up again and just leave?

Derek’s eyes flashed and he looked at Stiles for a long moment, before stepping back and lowering his hands. Stiles brushed by with a sigh and searched the table, but the key to the cellar door wasn’t there either. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t know how we’re getting out of this.”

Derek moved quietly to his side. Stiles glanced over and then looked away when he remembered Derek was very, very shirtless. The man didn’t seem terribly fazed by that, though. “Is there a key? For the door?”

“Not currently in our possession. Tell me, how strong are your werewolfy muscles?”

Derek gave him a flat look, but Stiles only shrugged.

“You could give it a try, at least.”

The man looked torn, but then sighed and stalked up the stairs toward the locked door. Stiles followed hesitantly and winced at the sound of angry grunting as Derek rammed his shoulder against the metal door. Stiles peered up at him from the bottom step and on the third try, shrugged.

“I mean, I could always try to pick the lock—”

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and Derek vanished from sight as the door flew open. Stiles raced up the stairs only to stumble to a stop at seeing the man sprawled across the floor, a surprised expression on his face. Despite himself, Stiles burst into laughter.

“There you go, wolfman. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shut up,” Derek said, rising unsteadily to his feet. He glanced around the empty safe house, before shooting Stiles a dark look. “Where are my keys?”

“Your… what?”

“My keys,” Derek said, red in his eyes. “You stole my Camaro.”

“Oh my god, that was your car?”

Derek actually looked confused. “I thought that was why you took it.”

“Uh, no way, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a laugh. “I just took the fanciest car that had an idiot owner who didn't bother to lock his doors. Seriously, do you lock them when you’re at the supermarket, at least?”

“It was parked outside my home,” Derek growled. “I thought it’d be safe.”

“Well, we all make mistakes.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, holding out a hand. “Keys, now.”

"Yeah," Stiles said. "I didn't have time for that. It's all nice and hotwired."

Derek blinked at him. Then he flashed red eyes with a growl and started out the door. Stiles stared after him for a moment before following. 

Climbing into a car with a werewolf who’d just been captive in his basement was not how Stiles had seen his day going, but here they were now. He glanced nervously over at Derek who seemed to be doing all he could to not make eye contact. Quickly, Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck and turned away.

“So, you’re not going to take me back to the Hale house and murder me, then?”

Derek avoided his gaze. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Right. That’ll be something discussed afterward, makes sense.”

Derek started the car in silence and Stiles could tell he was quietly freaking out. He glanced out the window and tried not to freak out himself. Gerard and Kate— they were going to kill him. Or they were going to try, at least. Stiles had no doubts about that. Because he'd betrayed them.

He didn’t feel as guilty about that as he probably should.

Just a little sick.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't a fan of Derek, Derek isn't a fan of Stiles, and someone other than the pack might be in trouble.

They didn’t make it to the Hale house before Stiles noticed something was wrong.

Derek’s face was tight and there was sweat beading his brow. He looked unnaturally pale for a werewolf and Stiles could tell he was clenching his jaw, fingers gripped white around the steering wheel. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles shifted to get a better look at the man. Derek’s eyes darted over for a split second.

“What.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Derek’s jaw ticked a fraction. It would’ve been easy to miss if Stiles wasn’t watching him so hard. He squinted harder.

“Why do you look like you’re in pain?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re deflecting,” Stiles said. He watched Derek for a moment longer and then was struck by a sudden wave of guilt. “What did they do to you down there?”

Derek clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. Stiles glanced down at his hands.

“I would’ve come sooner. If I knew.”

When the werewolf glanced over, his eyes were flashing red. He looked  _ angry  _ and Stiles shied away, suddenly realizing they were in very close quarters if Derek decided to throw the rescue out the window and rip his throat out instead. “Why do you care, Stiles? In fact, why are you here at all?”

Stiles looked sharply up. He clenched his jaw and glared back at the man. “Seriously, Hale? Would you rather I have just tortured your little wolfy ass a bit and left you there for Kate or Gerard to finish off?”

Derek’s jaw tightened at the mention of Kate’s name. Stiles growled at the back of his throat and turned away, crossing his arms.

“Keep you stupid red eyes on the road. I’m not dying because you’re a terrible driver.”

Once more, Derek didn’t answer. Stiles was perfectly fine with that.

As they neared the preserve, Derek slowed the car. He pulled off after another few moments and parked on the side of the road, turning the car off. Stiles shot him a confused look. “Uh, dude?”

“I’m not driving into direct hunter fire,” Derek said in a growl. “Either get out or stay here, I don’t care.”

“Glad to see we’re both on the same page then.”

The man only rolled his eyes and climbed out and Stiles muttered a series of curses to himself before following. Patting down his empty jeans and pockets, he suddenly wished he’d had the hindsight to grab a weapon before they’d left the safehouse. He would’ve gone with anything; gun, knife, or anything otherwise. Better than going into a fight empty-handed.

Derek noticed the action. His face tightened even more. “You should stay here.”

“Hah, that’s almost cute, Hale. As if.”

“You’re defenseless.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said in a drawl, shooting him a glare. “But don’t forget I took out your pesky little werewolf pack with a screwdriver and a bit of chaos. I think I can handle myself without a gun.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red for a second. But he didn’t say anything, starting down the road.

Stiles followed with a sigh.

For some reason, he’d deluded himself into thinking that since he’d basically, you know, saved Derek’s life, the man would be a little less bristly. But Stiles might as well have just walked out of his basement because Derek was still treating him like the hunter he’d kept cuffed in the dark for three days straight.

Stiles huffed to himself and glanced sideways at the werewolf. Derek refused to acknowledge him but when he shifted a little, Stiles noticed him wince. He stopped.

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Derek stopped too, but looked pained at doing so. Slowly, he looked at Stiles and raised an eyebrow. “What.”

“Something’s wrong with you. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm before the man could react and he growled a little. Ignoring him, Stiles pressed two fingers against Derek’s pulse point and arched an eyebrow, meeting his eyes again. “Try that again. What’s wrong with you?”

“Stiles—” Derek said, trying to yank away. But he winced when he did so and Stiles tightened his grip. “Let go.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Let go!”

Derek’s eyes flashed red and his fangs came down, and Stiles did, yanking back like he’d been burned. Derek growled at the back of his throat before turning away and stalking down the road.

Stiles seriously debated turning in the other direction and leaving him to fend for his own little wolfy ass.

“Oh my god,” he said, starting after Derek. “I hate werewolves.”

When they could see the house through the trees, Derek slowed. Stiles did the same, glancing sideways at the man, but Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes. Stiles followed his gaze, searching the house, and was surprised to see it looking empty.

Other than the cars of the pack, there was no sign of anyone else. No hunters. No Kate or Gerard. He blinked and looked at Derek in confusion.

“Are they here?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Don’t you have like… a stupid super sniffer or something? Can’t you tell if there’s someone else around?”

Derek shot him a red-eyed glare and suddenly started forward, stalking out into the open toward the front door. Stiles made a yelping sound of protest and scrambled to following, trying to catch his arm and drag him back into cover.

“Dude, are you insane? What the hell are you doing?”

“Protecting my pack.”

Stiles tried to yank him back but Derek ripped free with a growl, stalking up the porch steps and kicking the door open with a roar.

In an instant, there was a returning roar. Stiles scrambled back as he saw Scott’s red eyes and then someone was moving out of the house and catching him by the collar, yanking him a good three feet off the ground.

“Hey! Let go, asshole!”

Peter tilted his head and studied him, then glanced over at Derek. “So you brought him back.”

Derek just looked confused. Stiles swung and his fist connected with the side of Peter’s jaw and the man let go with a roar, stumbling back. He was recovered in a second, though, and pinned Stiles against the porch post with a clawed hand. Stiles let out a strangled shout and tried to kick him back.

Derek finally reacted and dragged his uncle away. “Peter, no!”

Peter let go with a sharp look at his nephew, and Stiles dropped with a few sharp gasps. The rest of the pack was gathered in the doorway watching them, but there… there wasn’t anyone else. 

“Where are they?” Stiles said, rubbing at his neck. “Where are Kate and Gerard?”

Peter looked at him with flashing blue eyes. Stiles retreated one more step away, his back perssing against the porch railing, and Derek glanced around too. He looked confused, brows drawing together. 

“They’re not here.”

“They’re—  _ they’re—  _ what?” Scott stepped forward. “Derek, what is that supposed to mean?”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “It means I saved his little wolfy ass and we were supposed to come here to save all of yours, but apparently—”

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air. Stiles yelped and stumbled into Derek’s suddenly tensed form, before spinning toward the sound.

Kate stood on the lawn, rifle in hand, one brow raised. Her lips were pursed and there was an expression of displeasure on her face. 

“Little fox,” she said, eyes locked on him. “I’m disappointed.”

Stiles froze. His heart lodged in his throat and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Gerard was nowhere in sight but somehow, just seeing the look on her face was enough to make Stiles’s thoughts leaped into hyperdrive. The tone of her voice, the look in her eyes. The tilt to her mouth.

He had always tried to please Gerard, but not her. Not really. Because Kate had always told him he didn’t need to try. That he pleased her simply for being her ‘little fox’.  She’d never told him she was disappointed before. 

Stiles was surprised to feel a hand placed on his shoulder and Kate’s gaze hardened. She shook her head, tutting. 

“I never thought I’d have to put you down with the mutts.”

Derek growled, hand gripping Stiles’s shoulder a little tighter. Her mouth tugged upward then.

“What would happen, Derek?” she asked. “If you had to see this shack of a house burned down for the second time?”

Derek snarled at her and Stiles started to feel claws tip into his skin. He winced, but didn’t yank away. Derek’s hand was trembling a little too, he noticed. He was holding onto Stiles like he was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Gerard knew you would leave, Stiles,” Kate said with a sigh. “It was a shame to lose the Alpha, but better than keeping a rat among the ranks. I had more faith in you, though. It's a shame I was proven wrong. Now I owe Carlos ten bucks.”

Stiles’s stomach flipped at that. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth gnashed.

“Quick tip, little fox,” Kate said, lowering her gun. Stiles blinked in surprise and she smiled almost apologetically. “Next time you go to the Sheriff’s station, make sure there’s not a hunter amidst their ranks.”

And Stiles’s heart stopped.

Kate turned away with a chuckle and someone finally roared. But it wasn’t Derek who was moving forward; it was Peter. Kate turned around so fast, finger tensing on the trigger of her gun, that Stiles didn’t even have a chance to blink.

There was the bang of a gunshot, the soft sound of it meeting its target, and then a pained howl cutting through the air. Kate tutted and turned away again.

This time, Derek did start forward. For the first time, Stiles noticed something blue glowing underneath his torn jacket as he let go of Stiles’s shoulder and started toward his uncle. The blue glowed brighter. Stiles saw lines of black creeping up his neck.

Two seconds before Derek passed out, Stiles realized why he’d been rapidly paling. And the firm grip on his shoulder made more sense.

Stiles really had been holding Derek up.

Two werewolves were down before Kate was even out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but it was being difficult. So I decided it was time to just suck it up and write. Now here we are! I'd love to hear what you guys thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack deals with new wounds, Kate's threat, and Stiles experiences something new.

When Stiles turned ten years old, Gerard took him into the basement of their current safehouse and tied him to a chair. The man set a timer, told him he had two hours, and left.

Stiles was down there for three and a half. When he came back upstairs, Gerard took his arm, and led his right back down to the basement.

Stiles went through that four more times before he hit two hours. He’d come up bright and grinning and then Gerard had taken his arm gain, leading him down once more, set the timer, and told him he had an hour.

Stiles was ten years and fourteen hours old when he got it down to forty-five minutes.

When Stiles was eleven, Kate stopped tucking him in goodnight. She still came into his room to ‘talk shop’ but she stopped smiling. Stopped getting in the way of Gerard’s tempers. Stopped offering comforting looks when Stiles did something wrong or messed something up.

He was eleven when Kate took five steps backward.

He was twelve he got his first knife.

He asked for something on his family at thirteen. Kate gave him three papers, Gerard came home and tore them to shreds, and Stiles was told never to ask again.

Reaching fifteen, Stiles was rewarded with Gerard’s grunt of approval, a gun shoved into his hands, and Kate’s touch on his shoulder that moved a little lower, tracing down his back. He woke up to a box of bullets inches from his face, a man named Carlos waiting outside of his room, and a shooting lesson that lasted twelve hours straight.

Then Stiles turned sixteen and instead of getting a cake, he got a tattoo. At seventeen, Kate sliced his shoulder open during a sparring match and when she stitched up the injury later on, trailed fingers a little lower. 

He turned eighteen and was sent to kill a wolf. Stiles killed two, came back to news about Beacon Hills, and watched his life turn upside down from there.

Stiles stood on the other end of the room while the rest of the pack rushed to take care of both Derek and Peter. He tried to avert his eyes as Allsion handed a bullet over to Scott, who ripped the top off with his teeth and then passed it to Derek. The man roared in pain as he shoved the dust against his wound, back arching up off the couch.

Peter had been shot in the stomach; he made a much louder, more pained noise when the dust of the bullet touched his skin.

Stiles winced and averted his eyes, glaring at the door.

The moment all of the werewolves were back on their feet, Stiles realized he was being watched. Grimacing, he turned his gaze back forward to see a dozen pairs of eyes looking at him distrustfully. He managed a small laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“So, the weather, am I right?”

“You stabbed Boyd,” Erica snarled. Stiles winced.

“Only with a screwdriver.”

“You nearly got two of our pack killed,” Isaac said coldly. Stiles looked from Derek to Peter, and raised his hands.

“They look pretty alive to me!”

Jackson snarled and started forward, but Lydia caught his arm before he could get more than five feet. Stiles still tensed, eyes darting around the room in case he would need to defend himself.

Derek raised a hand though, stepping forward.

“He… helped.”

That sounded like it was physically difficult for the werewolf to say. Stiles gave him a sideways glance but it seemed like Derek was determined to avoid his gaze. Stiles scowled a little at that.

Whatever, he didn’t need grumpy-growly werewolves defending him.

“I imagine your Alpha would be dead if I hadn’t saved his furry ass,” Stiles said, raising his chin. “So, you’re welcome for that.”

Jackson snarled again. But Scott only tilted his head, glancing over at Derek, who Stiles noticed also avoided his gaze. He felt a little more irritated at that.

“So what the hell are we going to do about the Sheriff then?”

All of the werewolves (and others) looked at him again, clearly startled this time. Stiles crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, refusing to be cowed.

“You heard Kate. It was an obvious threat to the Sheriff’s department and if he gets hurt—”

“First of all,” Jackson cut in. “She never said they outright hurt anyone.”

Peter was also looking at him but rather than angry, the man just looked intrigued. He tilted his head, eyes sweeping Stiles up and down. “Why would you care?”

“What, should I not?”

“He is a man that stands alongside werewolves.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and shifted from foot to foot. Peter’s eyes lit up and he stood, making Stiles tense even more.

“Unless— oh, this is good— does the little hunter want to run alongside the wolves now?"

“Shut the hell up.”

“What,” Peter said, eyes glowing even brighter. They looked a little blue now which made Stiles’s skin crawl. Because whatever the hell he wanted right now, whatever he’d come to decide, he still knew what those meant. “Are you here to jump ship, Stiles?”

Blue eyes belonged to a killer. Blue eyes belonged to a wolf that had taken an innocent life.

“Peter,” Derek said, but he didn’t move from his spot across the room. Stiles tried not to feel a twinge of betrayal at that, as Peter continued to stalk forward while the Hale Alpha didn’t make a single move. Because it wasn’t like Derek owed him or anything. 

Well—

No, Stiles refused to think about that any longer.

Because lingering on such thoughts meant he’d have to address that he’d saved a wolf’s life. A werewolf. An Alpha werewolf. The exact thing that Gerard and Kate had brought him to Beacon Hills to kill.

Stiles… Stiles had been here three weeks and he’d tossed everything he had down the drain. Everything he was down the drain.

Stiles suddenly felt a little sick and a lot lightheaded. His throat threatened to close and emotion after panicked emotion crashed over him. Kate and Gerard were going to try and kill him now. They were going to try and kill him for protecting the wolves that had attempted to kill him not a few days earlier.

Stiles had thrown it all away for a pack of wolves.

He only snapped back to reality when Peter stood right in front of him, a sick smile on the man’s face as he inhaled deep and let his eyes bleed to blue.

“Feeling a little bit of regret there, _little fox?”_

Stiles yanked back like he’d been burned. Peter’s smirk stretched from ear to ear and Stiles looked beyond him, eyes darting over each face of the rest of Derek’s pack. They lingered on Derek last. The man standing across the room, motionless, shoulder sleeve drenched in blood as he watched his uncle handle the interrogation this time.

Stiles… Stiles knew that there was a reason Derek had been at the safehouse. There was a reason Stiles had followed Kate into the basement to see the Alpha werewolf in chains.

If things had gone differently, had Derek shown up at the safehouse to kill him?

“You are,” Peter said, nostrils flaring. “You feel it like a tidal wave, don’t you little fox? The regret at betraying your fellow hunters. The _Argents.”_

“Stop it,” Stiles said. His words came out in a snarl but caught a little in his throat. Peter only chuckled.

“Tell you what, we'll let you run. Most werewolves would give you a five-minute headstart. What do you say about ten?”

Stiles punched him.

He didn’t really think about it, fist cracking against the man’s face. Pain shot through his hand and he swore, stumbling sideways as he pulled it into his chest, but at least Peter was stumbling too. Stiles took that triumph with a bit of a smirk but then Derek was stepping between them, eyes blazing red as he snarled.

“Enough!”

“Shut up, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, still nursing his hand. “I didn’t see you doing anything about twenty seconds ago. What, do I have ten minutes? Should I start running?”

“Stop it, Stiles,” Derek said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Stiles glared at him. But then the man turned to his uncle, eyes still bright red. 

“I had a wolfsbane bullet in my shoulder and Gerard left me in their basement. I would’ve died if Stiles hadn’t helped.”

Peter rolled his eyes, moving away. Stiles swallowed hard, feeling the rest of the pack’s eyes locked on where he stood again. He couldn’t tell which ones were threatening and which ones were not. 

“Kate made threats against the Sheriff,” Derek continued. “He's helped us in the past, so it’s our job to make sure nothing has happened to him now. Scott, Allison?”

“I’ll call my mom and make sure there’s nothing new at the hospital,” Scott said, starting past. Allison followed him, brown eyes tracking over Stiles one more time before they were both moving out of the house.

Derek turned toward his other betas. “I want a sweep of the preserve. If you catch even a hint of a hunter, don’t engage. Come back here and report how many and how close they are.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

Erica, Isaac, and Jackson didn’t look happy. But Boyd nodded and led the betas toward the back door. By that point, it was just Stiles, Derek, his uncle, and Lydia left. The girl smirked and tossed her red hair over a shoulder, starting out of the room.

“I’ll get in contact with Parrish to track down the dirty cop.” 

Derek huffed, turning red eyes to his uncle. Peter only smirked, sinking back down onto the couch. “And I’ll be here, dear nephew. Staying out of the way.”

“Good.”

“Just remember what I’ve told you,” Peter said, eyes tracked to Stiles for a moment. “About hunters and climbing into their beds.”

Derek snarled. Stiles just went stock-still, staring at the blue-eyed werewolf.

Peter only grinned.

“And you,” Derek said, turning around and catching him by the collar. Stiles swore and tried to jab the man in the stomach but Derek very efficiently delivered him outside, pausing only when the door was closed behind them and silence fell over the air.

Stiles yanked loose and glared daggers at the man. “You know your creep of an uncle can still hear us.”

“I’m not trying to keep anything from him.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“I need to know,” Derek said. “That if something happened to the Sheriff, or if Kate and Gerard come back, or if anything happens to the pack— my pack— you won’t turn on us.”

Stiles blinked at him. Derek raised an eyebrow and then it hit Stiles like a punch to the gut, and he barked out a dry laugh. “Oh my god, you agree with your uncle, don't you? What, Derek, what am I? A double agent? No, wait, let me guess. I just jump to whatever side I think is winning.”

“It’s not about winning—”

“No, Derek, it’s not! You know what, next time I’ll stay sided with the psychopaths who kill an entire family of innocents, okay? Or maybe I shouldn’t be here either. I mean, I heard about Peter. I read the reports about Jackson. Maybe both sides have innocent blood on their hands, huh?”

Dereks’ eyes flashed red and he snarled. Stiles scoffed one more time, turning away and starting down the porch stairs. 

“Whatever, dude, I can skip town. Good luck with the Argents!”

Faster than he could react, Derek was at his side and grabbing his arm, yanking him back around. Stiles spun with a swinging fist but Derek caught it mid-air, eyes flashing— but not red. 

Blue. Bright blue.

Stiles blinked in shock and stumbled back. But the moment Derek let go, eyes turning normal again, pain punched through Stiles’s side like he’d been shot. He stumbled forward, letting out a cry of pain, and clapped a hand to his side.

Right over his tattoo. He saw stars, faintly heard Derek shout his name.

And this time, it was Stiles’s turn to collapse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to help Stiles, some answers come to light, and the Sheriff gets hurt

Derek didn’t know what the hell had just happened.

Lydia sat in the back of the Camaro with Stiles's head in her lap while Derek drove. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead despite the fact that there was a teenager dying in the backseat of his car at the current moment. Derek’s head spun and his stomach was tied up in knots and he didn’t know what the  _ hell  _ had just happened.

One moment, Stiles had been trying to hit him. The next, the boy’s eyes had flashed bright orange, his face had gone pale, and then he was convulsing, falling to the ground before Derek could even attempt to catch him.

There was something—  _ something  _ that had caused the seize. But Derek didn’t know what it was.

Okay, he did. Or he knew it was a mark, a tattoo. Something he’d never seen on another hunter before and Derek had no idea what the mark meant. But it’d been glowing and when he’d touched it, Derek had felt like he’d been burnt.

He glared at the road but lifted one hand off the wheel. The angry red mark across his fingers still hadn’t healed. And he didn’t know what kind of marks had the ability to do that.

Peter had said they should just let him die. Derek decided they were going to Deaton’s.

His uncle had very disrespectfully declined to come along.

When they got to Deaton’s, Derek moved around the side of the car and picked Stiles up bridal style, carrying him toward the clinic. There was already a customer inside, who went rigid with round eyes but Derek ignored her, moving straight past an exhausted-looking Deaton and carrying Stiles into the back room.

He faintly heard  _ “I'll get right back to you”  _ and then Deaton came in after him.

“Derek, I should hope I don’t have to remind you that my clinic is not a hospital and I don’t know how to care for human patients.”

“This isn’t a hospital-related injury.”

Deaton raised a brow and moved closer, eyes searching Stiles up and down. For a moment, the man tilted his head, looking intrigued, and then he shook his head, fixing Derek with an impassive look again. “Go on?”

Derek tugged up the hem of the boy’s shirt, revealing the angry red skin around the tattoo. Instantly, Deaton was moving even closer and Derek eyed him.

“What is it?”

“Who is this young man?”

“His name is Stiles.”

Deaton raised a brow. Derek clenched his teeth together. “He’s a hunter here with Gerard and Kate Argent.”

“Derek, you’ve brought a hunter into my clinic?”

“He saved my life.”

“Ah,” Deaton said, turning his gaze back to Stiles. “And now you’re returning the favor.”

“I’m being a decent human being.”

The druid only hummed at the back of his throat. He brushed gentle fingers over the tattoo and then moved toward one of his bookshelves, pulling out an old leather-bound book and flipping it open. Derek watched in pensive silence.

The man flipped through a few pages. Then made a small noise at the back of his throat, turning back toward Stiles.

“He’s a hunter, is he?”

“Yes.”

“Do you happen to know his full name?”

“He doesn’t… have one.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow, giving Derek a curious look. He swallowed hard, averting his eyes.

“Not one that we know of.”

“Curious.”

Derek clenched his jaw. “What’s curious?”

Deaton moved forward, tracing his index finger over the tattoo. Stiles groaned at the back of his throat and Derek tensed, but the druid didn’t seem to notice the sound. Instead, he glanced from the open book in his hand, to Stiles, and then tilted his head.

“This is a mark used to block magic. A spark, I'd suspect.”

Derek straightened. He looked back at Stiles, something cutting straight through his chest. Betrayal maybe, because how the hell could the boy keep something like that from them? And then he felt stupid. Of course, Stiles had. He didn’t trust them. They didn’t trust him.

But Stiles  _ hunted  _ the supernatural.

“What does that mean?’

“It means this young hunter has untapped potential,” Deaton said, moving around to Stiles’s head. He looked back at the book and then pulled at Stiles’s sweatshirt, revealing his neck. Then his shoulders. But there were no other marks. “Potential it seems he doesn’t want the rest of the world to know about.”

“Do you think the Argents know?”

Deaton looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Kate and Gerard, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“I should imagine if they do, this mark is the only thing that kept Stiles alive. Gerard doesn’t differentiate between the supernatural. He would have killed Stiles without blinking unless he had something to block his powers.”

“... And if Stiles didn’t want it? Or know what it meant?”

Deaton’s other brow raised and Derek felt his face grow hot. But he couldn’t help remembering Stiles's adamant belief that Kate and Gerard were good. That killing the supernatural was right. He wouldn't… turn on his own kind, would he?

But then Derek could’ve laughed. He didn’t know this boy. The only interactions they’d had was one or the other trying to kill each other. He shook his head, right as Lydia came into the room.

“Nevermind.”

“Can you tell me what happened, Derek?”

Derek went quiet.

From across the room, Lydia raised an eyebrow, and Derek looked at her silently. After a long staring contest, the girl groaned and turned back out of the room with crossed arms. Derek waited until she was out of sight and the passenger door of his Camaro outside had slammed shut before looking at Deaton again.

“Something happened. With my eyes.”

“Go on?”

“They turned blue,” Derek said, gritting his teeth in memory. He had  _ felt  _ it. He had  _ sensed  _ the difference. Derek’s eyes had turned blue, Stiles’s had turned orange, and then the boy had collapsed. Deaton pressed his lips together as Derek listed everything off, his gaze slowly turning back toward Stiles.

“Very curious indeed.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I’d like to say I know how to help,” Deaton said. “But I have nothing to offer you other than the meaning of that tattoo on his skin.”

“Will he wake up? Do you at least know what happened to him?”

“He will eventually,” Deaton said. “As for why it happened… I’m not sure. His magic— his possible Spark— was connecting with a source, perhaps.”

“But I was the only one around him.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow. And the moment it clicked, Derek growled, folding his arms over his chest.

“No. I don’t want it.”

“For some reason, I doubt that was what he’d wanted either, Derek.”

Derek clenched his jaw.

“And in regards to the Argents?” Deaton said, turning back toward Stiles. “Well, I suppose that’s a question to ask this young hunter when he wakes up. If he wants to answer it, at least.”

“He’ll answer it,” Derek growled. Deaton didn’t say a word.

Suddenly, Derek’s phone was ringing. He pulled out and clicked answer immediately when he saw Scott’s name. For a moment, all he could hear on the other side was panting. And his heart nearly stopped the moment he realized it wasn’t Scott.

“Scott, what’s wrong?”

“It’s the Sheriff.”

“What does that mean? What happened?”

“We went by his house,” Scott said, his words slightly strangled. “There was a hunter there. He… he shot the Sheriff. Nearly shot me and Allison too. We… we need help.”

“Is he still alive?”

“The hunter? No. The Sheriff? Just barely.”

Derek closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath. The Sheriff had been nothing but friends to them. He’d lost his wife and son— the Hale pack Emissary— in the Hale fire years ago. But the Stilinski’s had been close Hale friends since Derek was a child. And Sheriff had stayed friends with the pack even after losing his family.

“Scott,” he said. “Call your mom. Get the Sheriff to the hospital as fast as you can. I’ll meet you there.”

“Is Stiles alright?”

Derek glanced back at the still unconscious boy on the metal table. With a lump in his throat, he forced himself to nod. “He's going to be fine. Call your mom, now.”

Derek hung up with Scott’s agreement in his ear and looked back at Deaton. The man raised a brow and Derek swallowed hard. “Can you—”

“You want me to keep him here?”

“For now,” Derek said. “Just in case something else happens. Just in case he needs help when he wakes up. And I still have questions.”

“You care about him,” Deaton said. Derek growled.

“No.”

“It’s not a bad thing to care for the boy, Derek.”

“It is to care for a hunter.”

Deaton’s lips thinned but he didn’t say a word. Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair. He still didn’t want to leave Stiles alone.

“I’ll send Peter.”

“I don’t like your uncle, Derek.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But I’d feel better if there was someone else here. A werewolf. Especially if Sti— if this hunter has a Spark.”

“One he cannot use.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek said, turning around. “Something happened earlier. He can't be allowed to use it again.”

Once more, Deaton remained silent. Derek sent a quick text to his uncle and shouldered out of the clinic, moving over to his car. Lydia sat up the moment he dropped into the driver’s seat.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Derek didn’t answer. Lydia’s green eyes flashed.

“Someone is about to die, Derek.”

Derek looked over at her, fear and sorrow clutching at his heart. “Do you know, then? Do you know if he’s going to die?”

“Who?”

“The Sheriff.”

Lydia’s face whitened. Quietly, she shook her head. “That’s not who I meant.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. Lydia looked back toward the clinic.

“I meant something involving Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist doing this one and I'd love to hear what you guys thought! Y'all are amazing <3
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr?
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Or on my favorite Sterek discord!
> 
> [not a dumpster](https://discord.gg/RTsjye5)


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